


Your Boss Is Calling

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Basically, Crack, Dating for peace, Destined mate, Online Dating, Soulmates, You get a con! and you get a con! Everybody gets a con!, by Primus, cross faction dating, dating to end the war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: When Primus calls and you’re the Prime, you *always* have to answer. Alternatively, The last thing Optimus wants to hear is that the only way to end the war is to get a dateWhen you call Primus and tell him you're not happy with your destined Conjux, you *may* get some help. Sorta. Alternatively, The last thing Optimus Prime wanted to do was throw his fellow Bot's into the matchmaking ring but he's not complaining.Prowl on the other hand, is complaining enough for both factions.





	1. Your Boss Is On Line 1 + 2

**Author's Note:**

> By request, this has now been moved from Track List to it's own individual fic. 
> 
> I combined the first two chapters of "Your Boss is on line" from Track List, making part 2 here part 3 there. Slightly confusing, but I think it'll play just fine. 
> 
> I'm keeping this fairly un-serious. It's basically continuity soup at this point as well--running primarily G1 but pulling from IDW and bits of Prime/Armada here and there. 
> 
> Warnings: OP gets a touch OOC at times but he knows it and it's in reaction to his situation so I thought it was warranted. (Also Red Alert, but let's be honest, Jazz using Red Alerts 3/!t3 H@x3r skillz to figure out the enemies sexual kinks is too funny to pass up.)

 

* * *

 

The Matrix was an object of mystical power. A totem of Cybertron’s deity, a blessing to those it touched. Fear and awe followed it in equal waves, forcing respect no matter what side of the war one fought on.

Few knew how it worked, fewer still how much it affected Optimus. He held a different name before it chose him-how much had it influenced the convoy’s personality. How much had been changed by Prime’s past.

No one knew.

Well. That was a lie. Optimus knew. And through him, his command staff.

But that was only because the Matrix had a bad habit of knocking him unconscious so that Primus himself could have a chat.

“I was in the middle of something.” Optimus growls, the second he realizes whats happened. He’s long used to abruptly waking up in a space of no sight or sound. It’s difficult to explain exactly what he sees when he communicates with their God, and his mechs have long stopped asking.

Optimus in turn, has stopped mentioning the...weirder...aspects of his conversations with the deity and the past Primes.

Some mechs take Primus’s growing interest in Optimus’s love life poorly. Optimus can’t blame them, he’s not really taking it well either. Of course, he’s the one “standing” before Primus like a petulant child being called in early for dinner, but still.

It’s an odd conversation to have, with a billion-year war taking up most of his time.

“I thought Prime’s weren’t supposed to take a Conjux.” He’d asked, the first time this had all come up.

“Yes well, you can blame Galina for that,” Someone called out. “Little devil convinced everyone  so they’d stop trying to sleep with her!”  

If Optimus focused he would be able to tell who it was, in the same mystical way that he knew who was here and who wasn’t. He didn’t want to focus though, and so ignored the speaker.

“A Prime can do what he pleases in his own life.” Primus said, before the banter could turn into an argument and derail the entire conversation. “We know you grow weary of this conversation while our people die. Just remember, our pressing of this matter is tied to the war.”

“You keep saying that. You don’t say how.” He’s trying to keep his tone civil, he is. He swears. It’s just not quite working.

“You’ll know when you encounter your sparkmate.”

Optimus glares. No one can see him do it, but they all know he is. “So you’ve chosen someone for me?”

“No, but I am who I am, child. I know who is destined for you. You are here today because you are letting your circumstances blind you, keeping you from reaching him.”

“And what do you suggest I do? Take a day and flirt with all the Autobots?”

“Who said your intended was an Autobot?” Crowed another voice.

“You wouldn’t.” Optimus nearly jerked back, face frowning.

“All Cybertronians are my children, regardless of the badge they wear on their chest.” Primus answered. “How did you expect an Autobot Conjux to aid the war effort?”

“Please tell me it’s not Megatron.” Was all Optimus could think to say. “  _Anyone_ but Megatron.”

They had a history after all. One Optimus did  _not_ want to delve into.

“Of course not.” Primus said. “But close. Now go, your command staff is worried.”

And of course he got no choice in leaving, just as he had no choice in coming. No sooner than the words were spoken than Optimus was falling, lights and sounds rushing back, shifting until they formed into Ratchet’s concerned face.

“You back with us?” He asked.

Ratchet did not believe in Primus. He did believe someone had made a machine capable of storing memories of past lives, as a sort of advanced AI, and it was those programs speaking to Optimus. He of course, had no proof, in the same way Optimus had no real, physical proof he was speaking to the god of their race, but they each believed their own versions strongly and loved each other enough not to argue about it.  Most days, anyway.

So, usually, when Optimus awoke to Ratchet peering over him he toned things down a bit and gave an edited version of what had transpired.

Usually was not always.

Optimus had had enough today though, between problems with the Decepticons, problems between the Ark’s crew, and problems with Primus trying to hijack his personal life.

So when Jazz asked; “What’d they tell you boss? They’ve been pulling you out a lot recently.” Optimus answered honestly.

“Apparently, I need to date a Decepticon to end the war.” He snapped. He regretted it instantly, in the resounding silence that statement left.

xXx

This was not the way Optimus wanted to spend his evening.

Or any evening, ever.

“Not Megatron, but close.” Wheeljack mused, looking at the list of pictures Prowl had projected onto the table. Each one could be tapped to display a short profile. A  _dating_ profile. That Jazz had made.

They were scarily accurate and often full of more information that Optimus had ever needed, or wanted to know.

“Is this what Spec Ops does for fun?” Ironhide had asked at the start of this unpleasantness, only to quickly regret his answer when he realized just how detailed each profile was.

“Do I want to know how you managed to get everyone’s kinks?”  Wheeljack asked, whistling as he scrolled through Starscream’s profile.

Jazz had pointed to Red Alert and responded with an entirely too delighted “It was a group effort!” Which had set the exact tone for this nonsense and now, an hour in, Optimus wished desperately that he’d followed Ratchet when the mech had stormed out, upon discovering what exactly the “emergency meeting” was about.

“It’s Soundwave.” Prowl said in the present, returning Optimus to the argument that they kept circling back to.

Soundwave vs Starscream. 

Both options made Optimus’s processor spin unpleasantly.

“Close doesn’t mean high command necessarily.” Wheeljack continued, staring at the handful of other profiles displayed.

Jazz made a rude noise. “Course it does, mech. How would anybody but high command change the tide of war if they hooked up with the Boss?” His fingers flicked lazily down the various profiles, once again showing off the “compatibility ratings.” “It’s gotta be a mech the rest will follow if he defects, or makes an announcement to bid for peace.”

“Are we suggesting mechs would follow Starscream if he defected?” Wheeljack said.

“No, but they’ll follow if he’s backed by the Autobot army.” Jazz replied. Optimus would normally trust his judgement, but considering he was currently championing Starscream against Prowl’s insistence on Soundwave, he was a touch hesitant.

Sort of like how he was hesitant about this entire ordeal.

“You're gonna have to take them both on a date then.” Jazz continued, after arguing his point a bit more and getting absolutely nowhere. “S’ only option.”

“Fine.” Optimus said, just wanting this meeting to  _end._ “Soundwave first then.” He knew he wasn’t getting out of this, knew he was going to have to go through with the madness. If that was the case, then no one could fault him for making his own plans.

He knew neither mech was his supposed bondmate. But Soundwave could potentially help find the actual mech and that, Optimus would take a chance on.

“Set it up, Jazz.” He commanded, and ignored the smug grin his Third shot his Second.

“Yes Sir!”

xXx

Optimus had a weird relationship to the Decepticons. As a figurehead and Autobot leader, he was positively despised.

As a Prime?

There was a reason Megatron had claimed he was the only one who could kill Optimus, and half the Autobot army was fairly certain it was because your average ‘Con just wasn’t comfortable doing it. Hating him certainly, but killing? Wounding, even?

Not a line many were willing to cross.

So Megatron removed that option from his army, making it a personal vendetta--which, at this point, it most certainly was. But it also allowed those who were uncomfortable hurting the Prime an out, one that was gladly taken.

The result was that, if you got certain mechs alone with him, they weren’t at all sure what they were supposed to  _do._ Call for backup and send alerts and go through procedure yes, but physically, while they waited for all that to happen?

They had nothing. They did nothing.

Soundwave, surprisingly, was one of those mechs. A fact Optimus was currently taking ruthless advantage of.

“Read my mind.” Optimus demanded.

“No.” Soundwave repeated, as he had been, continuing to back away as Optimus advanced. They were going in literal circles because of it and if that wasn’t a metaphor for Optimus entire fragging life nothing would be.

“I was given a mission by Primus.” Optimus snarled, sounding rather rabid and not caring an ounce. “I know damn well you aren't the mech he wants, but you can help so--  _read. My. Mind.”_

Soundwave flinched at the name of their god, but continued moving backwards. They were running out of time--Optimus knew the telepath had called in backup the second he’d realized he’d fallen in a trap.

The refusal was softer this time, more of a whisper and a headshake. The Con’s field trembled against his and, sensing weakness, Optimus played his trump card.

When the war had begun Optimus had made two things clear to both sides. He was fighting for what was right--and that he would never use his status or duties as Prime to win the war. The Autobots and his position as its leader was separated from his position as Prime. As such, any mech, no matter their alignments, who came to him for religious reasons would be heard and honored, even if they did not join the Autobots. Religious events would still be held and given appropriate respects.

Few believed it at first and many more had tried to use it to gain an advantage against the Autobots, but all had quickly realized that in this, Optimus was  _serious._

Deadly so.

He refused to kill, refused to let his own command kill on more than one occasion but for mechs who disobeyed the orders of peace when he acted as Prime? Those who disrespected the position, and made it difficult for others to let the Prime hold them?

Megatron never allowed attacks on the Prime’s team directly during recognized religious holidays for certain reasons, and Optimus’s unusual trigger finger was absolutely the leading reason.  

So when he pinned Soundwave with a stare and his field, when he spoke the words in a voice of absolute command, when he acted not as an Autobot but as a  _Prime_ , Soundwave knew to listen.

“I am not asking you as the Leader of the Autobots, Soundwave.” He said, field lashing out and catching the others in it. “I am  _commanding_ you as your  _Prime._ Read. My. Mind.”

He didn’t need to see Soundwave’s face to know the mechs optics had blown wide. Didn’t need to feel the shock in his field as Soundwave jerked to a stop.

Just smiled in victory when the first, hesitant trendle of power licked at his processor. Soundwave was fast, impersonal. He could make the process uncomfortable, could make it  _hurt_ but he did neither. Instead he found the information, the memories Optimus presented to him, took the information offered and looked only briefly beyond it to ensure it truly wasn’t connected to any kind of Autobot war effort.

The mech withdrew as gently as he entered, shuddering as he pulled his mind back from his Prime’s.

They stared each other down for a moment before the carrier bowed his head.

“Soundwave: Understands.” He said softly. “Will help.”

“Good.” Optimus said, relief in his voice. “Thank you.”

Finally,  _maybe,_ they could actually go somewhere with this.

“It’s not Starscream.” He added, before he could forget.

“Acknowledged.” Soundwave said and, despite the fact that he’d withdrawn entirely, Optimus got the oddest impression the mech agreed.

“Thank you.” He repeated, then sent the coordinates to a small, unclaimed energon reserve over an open channel. “Take care of yourself and your own.” He said formally, knowing Soundwave would understand that the reserve was meant as a token of gratitude--and that the Autobots would not harm anyone who took from it.

Not of course, that that meant Soundwave believed that, but they’d gotten this far and Optimus knew Megatron was starving half his crew.

He turned and walked out of the clearing he’d cornered the mech in. Soundwave watched him go, both knowing Optimus was safe turning his back to him.

They both left with trendles of hope that they had a way for this fragging war to end, even if Soundwave was rather shaky about it.

xXx

“It’s not him.” Optimus announced to the room, eliciting a response of half groans and half smug smirks. “But he’s going to help.”

“Is it wise to trust him?” Prowl asked, because he’d long ago mastered the ability to be disappointed, frustrated and annoyed without letting it show.

“No, but we don’t have any other choice.”

“Well.” Ironhide sighed through his vents, staring at the profiles once again projected on the table. “If it’s not Soundwave or Starscream--" Because Optimus had shot Starscream down so hard, o _h yes he had_ \--"--then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” Optimus said, seating down at the head of the table with his own sigh.

Something told him he didn’t really _want_ to know, either.

xXx

“Soundwave sent his options.” Jazz announced, a day later.

“Already?” Ironhide said, surprised. “That mech is scary efficient.”

“He is.” Prowl agreed, then turned slightly to eye his Prime. “Are you certain it’s not--”

_“Yes.”_ Optimus said and whoops, was he snarling again? He needed to stop doing that, it was out of character.

“Thundercracker is his first option.” Jazz read, displaying the profile Soundwave had created and Red Alert picked clean to insure it was safe.

“Point of stability for the army, Second in command of the seekers.” Jazz continued, looking at Soundwave’s reasoning.

“Has shown interest in defecting?” Wheeljack interrupted, twisting to face Jazz. “Is that true?”

The saboteur nodded, scrolling through the rest of the profile as he did so. “Yeah. Hasn’t done much about it though.”

“Doesn’t he hate grounders?” Ironhide asked, thinking back on the numerous insults the seeker had hurled at his ground-troops (particularly, the Twins.) More than one had been some kind of slur.

“That’s listed as the main weakness.” Prowl pointed out, arms crossed thoughtfully. “Clearly Soundwave thinks he could overcome that, though.”

“I dunno, most of the ‘Con’s have the fliers.” Wheeljack said, and Prime interrupted before that could devolve into its own argument.

“Next option.”

“Onslaught?” Ironhide read off, as the profiles switched out. “You’re  _kidding_ me.”

“Well respected within the Decepticon army, former Commander, known and trusted, dislikes Megatron and outspoken about it.” Prowl read this time, as the profile rolled past.

“Weakness; Bruticus and loyalty programming.”

“He’s out.” Wheeljack said, staring at the picture of the mech.

“Indeed.” Optimus sighed. No doubt Soundwave thought the Matrix--and possibly Ratchet--could overcome the loyalty programming but the gestalt? There was no way they were going to be able to separate him, and if they didn’t, that meant he came as a package deal.

Considering that package deal contained Vortex, Onslaught was  _absolutely_ out.

He didn’t have to ask for the profile after that. An all too familiar gold seeker popped up, and Prowl didn’t even get out his name before Optimus had veto’d him.

“No.” He said, to raised optic ridges around the table.

“Sunstorm’s devoted to Primus, and is fairly high up the Decepticon command chain on Cybertron.” Prowl said, frowning as Optimus shook his head. “His only weakness is that he doesn’t quite have the pull we’d want to put an end to the war.”

“I am well aware of Sunstorm’s devotion.” He said with a shudder. Sunstorm was one of the few who had no problems separating his titles, and contacted Optimus so often over the designated comm line that the Autobot leader would’ve thought he was trying to pull something, if it weren’t _for_ that devotion. “We would not get along as bondmates.”  Another shudder.

“Any other options?” He asked, hopefully.  ‘ _Please let there be other options.’_

“One, boss.” Jazz said. He looked up, field suddenly smug. “It’s got an apology in front of it though.”

“An apology?” He repeated, frowning. Who would Soundwave feel the need to apologize for sending? Unless….

Optimus sat up, suddenly wary, and found he had every reason to be when Starscream’s faceplates graced the center of the table.

“No.” He didn’t moan it, he didn’t, no one heard him say it like that, nope.

“His profile’s almost identical to ours.” Jazz said, field getting smugger by the second. “Sorry boss.”

“It would be worth considering him for that alone.” Prowl said, as he looked through the many “strengths” Soundwave had listed, strengths which Jazz and Red Alert had listed themselves. The weaknesses were equal in length, but each was countered by a strength, and the sheer fact that, if it weren’t for Megatron, the seeker’s actions would have ended the war long before now. It was only the tyrants ego and narcissism that had stopped Starscream--and, as a result, allowed the Autobots room to come out on top. Nevermind that he was outspoken about saving Cybertron and their species, and was the main reason The nemesis had functional energon-makers at all.

Starscream was well versed in the problems they faced, had the political and intellectual smarts to help fix them,  held the title of Second in Command honorably by Decepticon means, and would be respected if backed by someone who wasn’t an abusive egomaniac.

“Sorry kid, I’m with them.” Ironhide said, hand on his chin. “Screamer’s a nightmare, but he’s the nightmare that fits the best.”

“Are we agreed then?” Red Alert asked tentatively, all optics turning to their leader.

Optimus put his head in his hands. “Yes.” He said a moment later, defeated.

Somewhere, above him, a group of past Primes were laughing.


	2. Your boss is on Line 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part 3 on Track List, which is still up so I could save all the comments requesting pairings. I'm not really inclined to move it so I think I'll just have the first two chapters here, stay there as a 3 parter (and because I had a few "AU of an AU" scenarios I wanted to play with.) 
> 
> Continuity soup gets worse starting now lol. 
> 
> Warnings: Optimus is still a touch OOC, but ya know. It's a weird situation for everyone. Jazz actually goes a little OOC for a quick sec but I like to think of it as less OOC and more he was completely and totally caught off guard and gave an honest reaction, because well, when has he ever been caught off guard? Never haha.

 

* * *

 

The Matrix wasn’t a one way telephone.

The problem is, it wasn’t a normal telephone either. Or a comm link, or a text, or a holovid, or anything remotely in the scope of what most of the Autobot army understands. You could send something all you wanted. Get through even! But it didn’t mean you got to the person you were trying to reach.

In Optimus’s case specifically, he tended to get the busy signal, or what felt like some sort of energy-feelings-weird sparkly lights- related run around.

The humans though?

They got it.

He thinks it’s the real reason he likes them so much.

“Sounds like trying to call my cable company.” One had told Optimus once, after an innocent question involving Optimus’s role as “Space Jesus” (another concept they had surprised him with, in their way of not only having a similarish religion(s), but understanding the underlying issues of his position as the Matrix Bearer near-instantly.)  had gone awry. “You gotta call during certain business hours that always change; the number you called is always wrong so they have to transfer you, and then you get disconnected after thirty minutes of being on hold.” The man had nodded, posture indicating the exact frustration Optimus himself was experiencing at the time. “Totally relatable.”

Ironhide, who’d been witness to this particular discussion, looked as though he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up at a ‘Con base.  Optimus in turn had taken one look at him and resolved this was forever going to be something his own mechs just weren’t going to understand.

It was between himself and Primus, apparently. (Along with the humans and every single former Prime, ever, but who was he to count heads?)

So, upon reflecting and meditating on the decision of Starscream as his Conjux, he had finally removed himself from his concerned, over-reactive officers and retired to his room, ready to talk to Primus about it all.

The fact that the mediating might have been less sitting and more shooting blindly wasn’t his problem. Nor was the fact that he’d destroyed all 100 levels of Teletraan 1’s combat simulator , (and nearly, his TIC. Entirely Jazz’s fault, the mech knew better than to try and talk sense into a someone who was several freakouts deep and had instant access to a giant axe.) in less than two hours.

“I have some complaints.” Optimus said, when he was--finally!--pulled from his body and into the presence of his God (and whatever former Primes had designed to make fun of him this time)

“You haven’t even met him yet!”  Somebody yelled, correctly guessing what his complaints where about.

Optimus ignored him.

“How am I supposed to trust Starscream?” He asked instead, knowing if he didn’t start talking now someone else would. “How do I get him to trust me? How do I even approach him? As far as I know he isn’t even religious.”

“Starscream knows his place in this.” Was the ominous answer. “He understands what is being asked of him.”

“What, did you send him  a zip file?” Sarcasm is one of those things that Optimus never truly got the hang of and didn’t always like to use, but well, it was be sarcastic or do something drastic and one was a lot more manageable to pull off in this weird pocket of...wherever he was.

Primus gave the impression of a smile. Though Optimus can’t see anyone here, he was always been able to envision that smile with crystal clarity, simply because it was the kind Optimus spent years doing himself. A gentle slope of the mouth topped by kind optics always makes whatever follows more impactful, meaningful.

He doesn’t get a chance to brace himself about whatever his God is choosing to reveal.

“No I spoke to him. Same as I speak to you.” Primus said. The former Prime’s reactions range greatly from quiet smiles to boisterous laughter at Optimus’s thunderstruck reaction, optics blown wide and mouth ajar.

“You're serious.” He managed to say, when he’s recovered himself. “You brought Starscream  _here?”_

An impression of a shrug.

“It was needed.”

“He was willing to go along with this?” That was honestly more surprising than Primus pulling Starscream up here. Optimus didn’t think the God could do that--or wanted to, for whatever reason.

He’s missing something, about Starscream and Primus. He knows he is because he can feel it, in the same mystical way he can feel Primus is totally not going to tell him whatsoever.

It’s exactly this kind of bullshit that had made him go on a rampage earlier.

“He will do his best.”

Another impression made its way to Optimus at that--one that made him stop and consider things for a moment.

Primus was trusting Starscream with him.

“He has reasons to be frightened. Understand that.” Primus added, for once expanding on an impression when he almost never did. The warning wasn’t threatening. It was sad. Like Primus had argued many times with Starscream and had come away unable to solve whatever was wrong.

Like he thought Optimus might be a last ditch effort to fix it.

Things had  _never_ felt like that before and suddenly, Optimus felt a lot less annoyed and a lot more humble. He had known things had been dragged out past what their God wanted for them, in the same way he knew whatever rules Primus abided by wouldn’t let him directly interfere. This was the most information he had given in the better part of a millennia, and the reason for that could very well be desperation.

They were flirting with the extinction of Cybertronians as a whole, after all.

“Alright.” Optimus said after a long, considering moment. “I just wish this plan did not hinge on the two of us alone.”

A stupid sentiment. The kind he tried not to make up here, but it couldn’t be helped. The thought was strong enough that everyone in the “room” not doubt got wind of it anyway, in that stupid way he got impressions of Primus (and some of the Primes, when they allowed it.)

“Who said you two where doing this alone?” That was from a former Prime, the tone teasing.

“One relationship is not enough to hinge true peace on.” Primus’s voice was also teasing, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Not when Optimus realized they were  _serious._

The need to take it back, demand others were left out of this warred with his own stark relief for a moment, before Optimus decided, as he had always decided, to trust in his God. Even if he did it cursing and snarling the entire way.

Technically speaking, Primus hadn’t failed him yet.

Fully on board, he failed utterly to hide his own smile.” Names.” He demanded, nearly sticking his hand out like he was a sparkling asking for treats. “Give me names.”

“In due time.” Primus said mysteriously. The feeling of him and the former Primes began to fade. A dropping, descending feeling took its place, the kind Optimus felt when he was the one to call up the Prime instead of the Prime calling him. Just like hanging up the phone.

It was slightly ruined when Galina bellowed “But ask Jazz just what he thinks he’s doing with Soundwave!” right before he woke up.

xXx

The Autobots had given him plenty of space after yesterday's outburst (Referred to as the “Off with his Headcident” when spoken of out of his own audio range, a fact Optimus pretended his didn’t know only if only for the fact that it made everyone feel a lot better about their infallible Prime finally snapping.)  but apparently it was a luxury that could only last for the night. Within an hour of waking the next day, he found himself (carefully) rounded back up into the command room and once again grilled on how they were going to “woo” Starscream.

Prowl had a look in his optics that said he was determined to make headway when they’d begun. Optimus had known better than to fight it. Counted on it even, considering he himself felt rather out of touch with reality.

If there was one thing he believed it was that others could always replace him. Prowl helped solidify that idea, a forever annoyed stone cast in a changing sea.

 _‘Pits do you need to get a grip.’_ Optimus thought immediately after that, frown slashing down his face under his mask.  _‘You sound like Megatron.’_ He redoubled his efforts to focus, trying to actually pay attention to the majority of his highly trained officers debate about the perfect first date.

Jazz, having apparently recovered well from his Prime trying to behead him and clearly holding no ill will, had been trying to get Optimus’s own opinions on that matter for the last twenty minutes.

“He’s your _intended,_ boss.” Jazz was saying, jusrt as annoyed as everyone else was that their Prime shooting down all their glorious little ideas. “You get a say in how you court him.”

Unspoken was that Optimus himself should be doing most the planning, something Prowl was adamantly against.

Optimus grinned. He wasn’t a political figurehead for nothing. He knew the perfect opening when he heard it.

“Whatever you’re doing to Soundwave seems to be working, why don’t I just copy you?”

Jazz froze, stunned.

Everyone froze with him, silence descending on the room.

Ironhide broke it. “You did get a hold of Soundwave awful fast.” He said slowly, as though carefully piecing something together.

Red Alert frowned, leaning over the table now to get a better look at Jazz. “Of course, they are in constant contact. Jazz said they have to be, with how close everything is on Earth.”  They all know he means with how Spec Ops works, with how low their species count is, the size of the planet they are on, and how Jazz and Soundwave both maintain very close and protective ties to their current spies, but in the context of this conversation? With how Jazz was reacting?

It was damning.

Optimus lounged back against his chair, stupidly pleased that all the attention was off himself for once. Too much of it had been hyper-focused on him the last few days, and a majority of that focus had come from Jazz himself. So Optimus was more than content to let him squirm for a minute.

Maybe, if he was feeling particularly vengeful, for two minutes.  

“What exactly is your reasoning for being in constant contact with Soundwave?” Prowl said, the question more of a command.

"Ah.” Jazz said, off-guard, and not willing to lie when it appeared his Prime knew exactly why he was in contact with Soundwave.  “For the good of the war?”

Prowls optics drill holes into Jazz’s, forcing the TIC to look at him instead of desperately at their Prime. “Explain.”

“I---ah. Was. Experimenting?” The answer was so unlike Jazz that it brought Optimus out of his smug superiority, and back into something resembling his normal, protective personality.

“You were committing treason for an  _experiment?_ ” Prowl’s voice was growing colder by the second, something that Optimus hadn't intended and couldn’t allow.

Normally a gentle reprimand and a redirect would work but hey. He was already screwing with everyone, why not poke fun at his valued second too?

“No, he’s just making sure I’m not doing it alone.” Optimus said, and then has to smother the laughter in his field when Prowl’s face slackened in shock. “I thought it was rather kind of him.”

“Are we actually saying Jazz and Soundwave have been  _flirting_?” Wheeljack asked, confused face making its way to look at everyone ‘round the table. “Is that seriously what’s happening right now?”

“I was just puttin’ out feelers.” Jazz says with a shrug, body hunching ever so slightly and whoops, Optimus didn’t mean to make him feel trapped either. “Thought with the Prime doing it it would be a good time to...” A small, if carefully considered pause, “-make some intentions clear.”

And now Optimus just felt bad. _‘Good job.’_ He thought to himself.  _‘That absolutely did not go how you wanted it to.’_

Mostly because he’d been less focused on how it would go and more focused enacting what he’d thought would’ve been a harmless revenge plot. No excuse for it though, now he had to fix it.

Before Prowl went for Jazz’s throat.

“Well, let me be the first to congratulate you for it.” Optimus said, pushing cheer and laughter and the harmless, playful intentions he now had to force in his field, extending it so it could be felt around the table.

Confused glances is what he gets back, but it’s up to Jazz to ask the obvious, since he’s the one on the hotplate.

“Congratulate me for treason?” He asked, guessing wearily.

Optimus beamed at him, pretending it wasn't remotely faked in an effort to get calm his command staff.

“For being the second mech chosen by Primus for this mission.” He said cheerfully. “You’re dead on target too, Soundwave is your Conjux.”

Which he was. Optimus had sensed it the moment he’d awoken. Soundwave was intended for Jazz. Just as several of his other bots--in all ranks and jobs--were intended for certain Cons. Ones he couldn’t really sense yet but would be revealed in due time.

“I don’t know if Soundwave's gonna buy that.” Is all Jazz could think to say.

“I can contact him for you if you like.” Optimus was still smiling. It had turned into something real, with the reminder that he wasn't alone in this anymore. “I’ll be glad to clear up any misconceptions.”

“No, no.” Jazz said, thoroughly embarrassed. “I uh, got this.”

Between this and the accidental almost-beheading, Optimus owed his TIC a lot. He knew it, and knew he was going to have to both apologize and thank Jazz.

But only after he suggested a double date, purely to spite some of the date ideas Jazz had lobbed his way.

“Will there be more of us?” Red Alert asked, horrified at the idea of being attached to a ‘Con and even though Optimus knew better, knew he should regain control and stop acting like a petulant sparkling before he made things worse,  he can’t resist one last jab.

“Of course.” He said. He waited until all optics are once again on him before he cut the most obvious look in existence over to his CMO. “Ratchet, for example.”

“Fuck you, Drift defected.” Is the immediate reply followed by a quiet curse and shocked silence.

 _“Drift?”_ Red Alert yelped, growing more alarmed by the second. “As in, formerly Deadlock? That Drift!?”

Even Jazz is looking askew at that one, but wisely kept  his mouth shut after being called out himself.

“You baited me into that.” Ratchet growled, and Optimus can’t hold back the chuckles at the menace in his CMO’s  field. Especially considering this was the first meeting he’d attended since this mess had started.

“Sorry old friend.” He said, with an apologetic shrug that Ratchet does not remotely buy. The medics optics narrow and holy hell, is Optimus gonna be in for it later. But at least, for the moment, it was worth it.  

For a moment, this all was worth it.

 _‘I’m not alone.’_ He thought and then has to sigh, because that was of course, the issue all along. He was being made out to be the Martyr. The Messiah. The one who had to sacrifice absolutely everything just to keep everyone else going.

Whatever is intended for them, they’ll have each other to lean on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Optimus goes on to threaten his entire army by telling them if they don’t behave he’ll have Primus stick them with a Con. This is most effective on the Twins, and has only backfired twice so far.


	3. Your Boss is On Line 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!
> 
> For those who skipped the first two, I'm keeping this fairly un-serious. It's basically continuity soup at this point as well--running primarily G1 but pulling from IDW and bits of Prime/Armada here and there. Just something silly and fun.
> 
> Warnings: Drunk cliff sitting-don't do that IRL folks. Optimus remains within the OOC realm, this time the excuse is the aforementioned drinking.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere, in the far recesses of the Pacific Northwest, Jazz and Soundwave were helm-deep in a dating app.

It was one of their own design, something they’d banged out in a matter of hours. All they had left to do was hook their own factions on the idea--something they had decided would be best done with a set of completely incorrect, utterly insulting profiles.

Megatron’s was a piece of work Jazz personally wanted framed.

“They’re gonna wanna correct ‘em.” He explained, when he had pitched this initially. “Especially once they realize _anyone_ can see their profile.”

Including Autobots, Decepticons, Neutrals, and _gasp!_ Humans.

Especially when certain ones contained pictures that were rather incriminating. Such as all of the Stunticons profiles and both of the Autobot Twins.

Soundwave had thought it over before tipping his helm in a slow nod. “Logic: Sound.”  He’d said and off they’d gone, using top tier spy intelligence gathered throughout a millennia to piss off everyone just enough to make them want to defend their honor.

Curiosity too, was going to play its role. Once they were done defending their reputations, most mechs were going to want to see who hadn’t--or better, who they had been matched up with once they’d put in their own info. Jazz and Soundwave’s algorithm was significantly more advanced than a humans dating site but the app itself had been carefully constructed.  You either saw everyone or you saw no one, no removing people simply by faction, frame type, or location.

And the very second the site was live, everyone on it was going to get an email.

A lot of emails.

Spam could be very effective when your email was hard-wired into your brain, after all. 

To avoid suspicion from the majority of the army, Jazz and Soundwave had profiles as well. Per their own agreement and as a sort of pseudo challenge, they had taken to writing each others.

Perhaps with a slight bit more consideration than anyone else had gotten but hey, they both had reputations to consider. Not a lot of mechs would take on Soundwave and Jazz _both_ for a prank, not even among the elite who fought each other on Earth.

Soundwave’s had been finished a few moments before (complete with two different insults to his DJ-ing ability and a suggestion that he was involved in a one-sided, rather kinky relationship with Megatron.) They were now finishing Jazz’s.

“Here,” Said mech pulled up an image of himself from his own databases, sending them over to Soundwave. “Use this one.”

Displeasure flicked through Soundwave’s field--the Autobot TIC got the impression he was frowning.

“What?” Jazz teased, “You don’t like it?”

“Soundwave: Has better option.”

“No kidding?”

“Fixed.” The mech said after a moment, and Jazz refreshed his screen, to see what his rival had done.

He was blown away. “Whoa.” He said, staring at it. His picture had been goofy--a stupid selfie taken by one of the humans. The picture Soundwave had taken was significantly more dynamic--showcasing Jazz from above. The saboteurs head was tilted all the way up, visor catching the light in such a way that made one of his optics visible. One hand was on his helm in a playful salute, the other held a gun, and the look on his face read “fun” more than threatening. (Not that anyone who truly knew him would buy it--Jazz had plenty of fun while utterly destroying his enemies.)

It was taken outside, up on a cliff with the photographer being up slightly higher than he was, and showed the vast expanse of a forest in the background.

Jazz recognized the area instantly.

“You took this.” He said, optics flicking back to Soundwave.

He didn’t get an answer but then, he didn’t need one. They both knew Soundwave had.

“You have any more like this?” He asked, captivated by his own photo. It _felt_ like him--like a piece of him had been captured within the screen.

“Several.”

Jazz quirked a grin, finally shaking off the last of his surprise. “Why Sounders I had no idea you were such a fan!”

It took a lot of talent to read a flat look off a mech who had a visor and a face protector but Jazz managed it just fine.

“Negative. Photos open to anything of interest.” That sounded almost dismissive. Or as dismissive as Soundwave’s mods allowed him to emulate.

“Yeah? And if I ask for a file of these pics, are a number of them gonna be of me?”

A very, very long silence ensued, during which Jazz’s grin grew three-sizes too big.

“No comment.” Soundwave finally admitted. Which of course meant the game was on--because Jazz was not walking away without seeing some more, oh no. Not now that he knew!

“Oh buddy you are in for it.” Jazz said.

Silently, Soundwave agreed.

 

xXx

Several thousand miles away in the Autobot base, Ratchet was doing an admirable job of trying to talk Optimus out of a first date.

“You don’t have to do this.” He repeated, as he had been for most the morning. “You don’t have to do any of this. I don’t know why half this damn army believes in this idiocy, but as the only apparent voice of reason around here, someone needs to tell you it’s okay to back out!”

Of course, by idiocy he meant “Mission sent from Primus” and by voice of reason he meant “Only person willing to tell you you might be full of it.”

The rant in its entirety was a long way of saying “I love you and I’m worried” and that was the reason Optimus valued Ratchet so much.

Well.

That and the sass.

“I  can’t believe Prowl helped with this. I can’t believe _Red Alert_ helped with this!”

Or Wheeljack, or Ironhide, or anyone but Jazz, really. Optimus knew, Ratchet had said that all ready. Which meant they were circling back to the start of the argument and it was time to stop.

“Ratchet, old friend.” He soothed, as he always had, two hands resting firmly on his CMO’s shoulders. “Thank you. You know I have to try.”

“I will stick to what we’ve outlined. Everything today has been carefully planned and approved. We’ve made this as safe and sane as we possibly could without making Starscream misread it as an attack. If nothing else, I can simply recoup back here and you and I can go over the Matrix together to see if there’s anything we can find out about it.”

He left Ratchet with a small smile, holding a box full of confiscated high grade and the knowledge that he was _blatantly_ lying.

xXx

Starscream wasn’t afraid. He was never afraid.

What he was, was experienced, cautious, and careful.

This could absolutely still be a trap. Especially if _he_ was right, and Starscream’s main issue were of the delusional nature.

He wasn’t though. He’d never been right, hadn’t been right in a long time, and why the rest of the army didn’t see that was beyond Starscream’s capabilities to understand. Megatron was a giant, bumbling idiot who’d lead them all astray, so who cared if Starscream explored other options?

Especially options offered to him rather incessantly by the literal god of their species.

( A part of him, the hysterical part whispered that he _was_ deluding himself but he ignored it.)

All thoughts went out the window entirely when he saw the Prime.

There meeting place was atop a secluded mountain, right near a cliff. A cliff Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots, was sitting on the edge of.

Pedes kicking lazily off the edge and field _startlingly_ overcharged. In the high-grade kind of way.

Never in his life would he ever admit to thinking Megatron had been right, but in that moment that was exactly what he did.

“Are you _drunk!?_ ” He asked the second he landed. Clawed hands went to his hips, optics wide in disbelief and fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ Primus really was just a voice in his fragged up processor! This wasn’t a date, there wasn’t a date, he had hallucinated the invitation and had simply stumbled across the Prime having some kind of breakdown.

“Not yet.” The Prime replied, interrupting Starscream internal rant. He then took an impressive swig of what looked to be one of the Autobot Twins infamous Jungle Juice.  “But I’m getting there.”

Starscream called it then and there,

This was how was going to die.

(The fact it wasn’t his first time doing that didn’t help, either. Fragging interfering, annoying, diabolical _, ancient gods!_ )

xXx

“I’d accuse you of setting me up but even I know a Prime wouldn’t sink this low.”

It was said tauntingly, Starscream’s head titled this so, field radiating smug superiority, fully recovered from the startled look painted across his face a moment before. Exactly the personality Optimus had been worried about and exactly the tone he’d been trying to avoid.

He’d never taken the bait before, instead opting for trying to empathize and understand his enemies.

Today  was not the day for doing things like he had been.

“I haven’t set up anything. Primus has.” He said, with a roll of his optics. It wasn’t without his own fair share of regret and annoyance, something he weirdly thought Starscream would appreciate rather than find insulting.

Neither of them were happy to be here.

Starscream sniffed, playing offended until finally deciding it would be better to sit down. He did so dramatically, staring at the selection of high grade laid out between them with blatant dismay.

“So this is your big date idea? Get wasted together?” He snipped, crossing his arms over his cockpit in a way that somehow looked self-conscious instead of judgy.

“Oh no.” Optimus said, leaning back on his hands. He wasn’t exactly buzzed just yet, but he was feeling rather risky. Sitting on the edge of a rather large cliff while drinking played into that rather nicely, giving the seeker a very clear advantage. If Starscream killed him for it then so be it. Someone else could be Prime for a change. “We had a whole day set up. Things designed to impress and show how serious I am.” He waved a hand, as though physically brushing the planned activities away. “My entire team was involved in putting it together.”

Starscream chewed on that. “And we are sitting here not doing any of those things because you wanted to get cratered?”

“We are sitting here because I wanted one day where I made a decision about my life that wasn’t somehow controlled by a deity, my command staff, or a fragging war.” He took another nice, long drink. “Thought you’d appreciate doing the same.”

“Did you just swear?” Starscream’s voice was tight--screechy, yes, but also something else.

Nervous, Optimus decided after a moment. The Decepticon was nervous.

He didn’t blame him for it.

“The dockworkers I was raised with wouldn't have considered that a swear, so no.” Optimus said, because it was true. If you didn’t string six different curse words from four different dialects then you weren’t trying, but _were_ subject to ridicule.

Starscream seemed almost surprised at that. “You weren’t sparked for Prime?” He said, clearly prying.  

“No one is.” Optimus scoffed. “Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

They both knew he was talking about Sentinel.

Starscream didn’t say anything to that, instead opting to pick a drink and start trying to catch up. An awkward silence descended, making it more and more obvious that the Decepticon SIC was 99% pure bluster. The mech was fidgeting, wings held high and stiff, arms holding onto his own armor so tight Optimus was surprised he hadn’t dented it. His field whipped through a myriad of emotions, mostly smug ones that seemed to try and cover for the flashes of fear and dread. 

He wondered how much of it was this situation, and how much of it was just how Starscream normally acted when not being threatened.

He had to be stressed a lot, Optimus conceded, eyeing his supposed sparkmate. The reports they had on the Earth Decepticons weren’t good in terms of medical repair states and general energon consumption. A month ago Optimus had purposefully been slow to respond to a raid report when it was clear that no one was being directly threatened purely to try and replenish some of the weaker looking Cons they had faced in battle prior.

The whole situation was...worrisome.

And that was without adding in Megatron.

This wasn’t what he had wanted to focus on though. Not what he wanted to think or talk about. Not when he was supposed to be connecting or wooing or whatever, with the seeker.

Optimus honestly wasn’t sure how Primus planned for them to connect, but it sure as hell wasn’t through a long, extended silence.

Well, _there_ was one train of thought. “So what’s he done to ruin your life then?” He asked. Might as well try and bond over a mutual experience after all. No reason they couldn't start there.  

Starscream, who’d managed to relax a touch, stiffened right back up. “Who? Megatron?”

Optimus snorted through his vents. “No, Primus.”  He corrected, because he knew damn well what Megatron had done to ruin _everyone’s_ lives. His own included.

Starscream considered the view, took a small sip from his high grade.

Then another, purposefully drawing the answer out.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said finally, voice smaller than it had been. It was still trying to hold onto its haughtiness--something that didn’t quite work.

The Optimus of four days ago would have nodded regally and left things at that. Changed the subject. Been polite and welcoming and considerate. He also wouldn’t be on a date with Starscream in the first place so the Optimus  of now took his own opinions with a grain of salt.

“I do.” He said, barging ahead. “Do you know how many times he has given me a vague description of an answer in some kind of vain attempt to have me make my own decisions? He won’t interfere, oh no, not directly. Can’t, he says. But he’s quick to tell me when I’m wrong!” Optimus disengaged the cube holding his current, finished high grade and reached right back into the pile for another.

Starscream, having finally gotten brave enough to take bigger swigs of his drink, was quick to follow. 

“Do you know how he talks to me?” Optimus ranted, more than asked. “Just knocks me out. Flat out. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing. Shower? Boom! Out. Important meeting with the human dignitaries? Boom!" He snapped his fingers. "Out!" He took another, large drink. "Can't even have another Prime take over my body, or leave me standing with some shred of dignity or some such. Just takes me right to the floor!" 

 _Now_ he was drunk _,_  he thought with some mirth.

"You know what the worst thing he's done?" He asked, only to be surprised when Starscream answered. 

“Brought me back from the dead?” Starscream muttered, then jerked up in horror. His mouth clamped shut, and Optimus got the immediate impression that the seeker hadn't meant to say that.

Too bad.  

“Yeah that sounds like him.” Optimus grumped. “Fragger.” Which was blasphemy, and something that would cause entire squadrons of mechs to short-circuit. The Prime, judging Primus himself!? What had the world come to!?

 _'Ruins',_ Optimus thought darkly. ' _Cybertron had come to ruins_.'

So if he wanted to swear at a stubborn deity, he would, thanks.

Starscream’s field had immediately retreated, but Optimus still caught the ripple of shock go through it. “You believe me?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve died and come back myself.”

That seemed to startle the seeker, as though Starscream hadn’t considered that.

Which, Optimus thought was rather accurate--no one liked to remember that bit about history. 

Especially Ratchet.

This time the silence that fell was just stilted instead of uncomfortable.

“What’s your plan then?” Starscream said finally, voice back to a stronger, more screechy range.   “I fall expectantly into your arms and the Decepticons follow my lead, abandoning all their ideals? We create Utopia together?”

“I hadn’t gotten farther than planning the second date.” Optimus admitted, because it was true. Prowl and Jazz and everyone else had gotten a lot farther.

They simply hadn’t considered that Optimus didn’t have to listen.

“Provided that this one went well.” He did add, after a second. Because really, they’d only been up here for about an hour. Things hadn’t exactly progressed much. _Not,_ Optimus thought wirely, _that either of us really expected it to._

“Okay.” Starscream said slowly. Agreeably.  “Second date. We’re not wasting it like this though.” He stood up at that, abruptly concluding the Optimus Prime Rants About Everything Hour.

Strangely, Optimus was a touch sad that it was over. This whole thing had been rather...freeing.

“Deal.” He said. 

He watched Starscream take off, not all that sure on how to feel about the "date", (or if it had really been one) and unsure about going on a second one. 

At least Prowl would be happy.


	4. Your Boss Hung Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparkmates is based off Okcupid. Ravage and the other cassette’s aren’t Soundwave’s kids in this version, but I still call Soundwave a Carrier--It’s going to be a separate kind of identifier than someone who is carrying a spark for those familiar with that kind of thing. Kids aren’t happening in this fic but I wanted to clarify that Ravage’s relationship with Soundwave is more based off their IDW history. 
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of stravation/mentioned death by starvation.

 

* * *

 

With the introduction of the internet and social media, the spread of information among humans could, at times, be near instant.

When it came to creatures who had access to similar features within their very heads, the spread of information _was_ instant.

Within 30 minutes of its launch, _Sparkmates_ had caused absolute pandemonium.

Jazz knew because he’d been counting.

He was proud to say it only took an additional 15 for the screaming to start.

“Overcompensating virgin!?” Howled Sunstreaker, right over the top of  Mirage’s screeched;

 _“Fake noble!?_ ”

The Autobot rec room was filled with absolute chaos, as mechs were horrified to discover they needed physical datapads to edit the horrific (Red Alert) derogatory (Prowl)  fragging _insane_ (Cliffjumper) new website

“Who the fuck made this incompatible with internal Cybertronian access points!?” Snarled Sideswipe, half pounding on his datapad and half using it to bat away anyone trying to steal it. People were scrambling to find more, as the site could only be edited by those with a datapad--”To insure the information you put out is well thought-out!”

Amazingly enough, that feature had come from Soundwave.

 

“Who bothered with this whole thing in the first place?” Answered Hound, honestly puzzled. “It’s a lot of effort to go through just for a prank...”

“Guys.” Interrupted Blaster,  in the sort of breathless tone of voice one used one they had discovered something particularly juicy. “The Decepticons are on here.”

Abrupt, dead silence.

“Primus above, I matched with Shockwave.” Perceptor said a moment later, stunned.

The screaming immediately resumed.

xXx

The scene aboard the Nemesis was mostly the same.

The difference was, when asked later the Decepticons swore they “roared” instead of “screamed.”

(“In anger!” Hook spat, armor practically bristling.

Ravage, who had been tasked as witness to the initial discovery and thus carefully hidden in the Rec room, politely disagreed. )

It was just other players acting out the same things, with someone eventually realizing the matches all included Autobots. The result was a flurry of profile editing, profile stalking, and in some cases, sending out questionable pick up lines with the defense that it was a joke when caught later.

(“How much does a polar bear weigh? Are you serious?” Blast Off read, over Vortex’s snarled demands to _give him the datapad back_ , now!)

“Boss,”  Ravage said, slinking back into Soundwave’s office after witnessing the core Earth army have a complete and utter meltdown, “how exactly, is this supposed to help?”

Dozens of screens lit his Carriers face. Ravage was acknowledged by field and the presence of Soundwave’s mind brushing against his, the mech himself never once taking his optics from the surveillance footage he was viewing. “Ravage aware.” He said, voice made thick by installed mods. Ravage wasn’t a fan of the monotone, but had long agreed Soundwave’s actual voice was dangerous--the mech had never learned how to lie with it, or his face.

“I am aware of what the Prime shared with you.” He agreed, coming to sit next to his Carrier. “I am also aware that you don’t want to defect.”

Ravage--or the other cassettes--hadn’t wanted to either. He knew what had been shared with him, which- was everything the Prime had shared- but wasn’t as convinced as Soundwave was. It was his job and his marker though; Ravage, the Skeptic.

Laserbeak made fun of him for it but she herself was unnerved by the whole thing.

“Neither of those things explain why you made a dating app.” He finished, turning to stare at his Boss and making sure the other felt it.  

Soundwave remained silent for a moment, fingers coming up from their position on the keyboard to rest against his chin.

“Query: Cybertron energon situation.” He asked, finally. It was an odd answer, but Ravage was used to those.

“Bad.” He said flatly. It wasn’t a secret that Cybertron was starving. The energon reserves had  dried up, the mines empty. When they did produce anything it was often unsuitable--poisoned or otherwise filled with things that couldn’t be filtered out.

The biggest sign of a dying planet.

“Query: Earth energon situation.” Soundwave asked, causing Ravage to frown. He couldn’t figure out where they were going with this, even connected to Soundwave as he was. He trusted his boss though, and answered, knowing it would lead him somewhere. To some point.

Some point that had made Soundwave believe the Prime’s idea that inter-faction dating was going to solve a million year war and then picking _Jazz_ of all mechs.

Not for the first time, Ravage thought that it might not just be Megatron who was losing his mind.

Soundwave’s field flicked at his in annoyance at that, but Ravage expected it. He’d hadn’t been hiding his thoughts.

“Depends.” He answered, after considering. “Earth itself is filled with energon. Between its sun, the surrounding planets, and all of Earth’s varying environments, energon is rich and easily found. It’s easy to mine and can be found in different, core flavors, some of which we’ve never seen. The biggest issue is just getting past the Autobots.” Who had managed to find the local energon reserves first and now guarded them religiously.

More could be exported from other parts of the planet--or some of the surrounding planets even-- but doing so came with its own issues. Primarily, bringing it back. The Nemesis was too damaged to be moved, moving to a new base would simply invoke the Autobots to move with them, and the Decepticon’s Earth forces were too thin to stretch out.

The space bridge would greatly help--if the project was ever completed. Currently they were faced with the same issue trying to build it--constant interruptions from the Autobots, and constant interference trying to get materials for it.

Megatron had ordered entire fleets to descend upon Earth to help, stating the energon they’d gained from a full invasion would be well worth it. Shockwave claimed he needed all the forces he had to keep Cybertron running but the reality was that most ships simply couldn’t make the journey. Not on the energon they had. Certainly not to where Earth was.

“Query: number of deaths caused by starvation.” Soundwave said, the question interrupting Ravage’s thoughts.

“Haven’t look into that one.” He replied, tail stilling. “You did though.” Ravage didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. Soundwave wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t already know the answer.

Soundwave did. “Decepticon deaths caused by starvation: estimate, 2,000. Estimate is rising.”

Ravage did the math, dread blooming in his tanks as he did so.

He spoke the conclusion as he came to it. “The Autobots are going to starve us out.”

Soundwave dipped his helm. “Affirmative.”

They were going to lose the war.

Ravage cursed. “Does Megatron know?” He asked, then felt stupid for it. If Soundwave knew, Megatron knew. “Why isn’t anything being done?” He corrected, unleashing his claws onto the floor only to retract them a moment later. A nervous habit, the kind he hadn’t shown for a while.

Excusable, in this situation.

Quieter, a feat that was hard to achieve with the voice mods, Soundwave answered; “Megatron informed. Soundwave’s intelligence: insulted.”

Ravage winced. Megatron rarely insulted Soundwave and absolutely not his intelligence--nevermind refusing to listen to his information. Before, he had always been the kind to listen to his advisers. Trust in them, their information, and make a plan that used it.

Before wasn’t now.

That time had long passed--a thought Soundwave had harbored for a near equal amount of time. Megatron had become unreasonable, aggressive, and more often than not, unstable.

None of them knew how to reach him. After the mech’s repeated outbursts at his own officers and increasingly illogical decisions regarding the Prime and the Autobots, Soundwave refused to let anyone but himself try.

Soundwave swore their leader was still there. Was redeemable. He had let his ego get tangled with a grudge match, the result going unchecked for so long that Soundwave now thought it’d take something truly spectacular to get through to him.

Or someone, maybe.

It had just been painful to learn that that someone hadn’t been Soundwave.

It hadn’t been Ravage either, not that the cassette was going to tell his Carrier that he’d tried.

“Prime’s situation: A blessing.” Soundwave finished. It allowed the Decepticons and Autobots a way to end the war without either side winning. Without a giant loss of life, the kind that threatened to end the entire Cybertronian species.

That, Ravage understood. Even better now, that he realized the full scope of their situation--something, he thought angrily at his boss, that had been hidden from him.

Soundwave knew better than to do that.

His Carrier apologized, not in words but in feeling. Explaining the bonds between cassette and Carrier was difficult, as it was both compared to a sparkbond while considered nothing like it at the same time. It did allow the sharing of feelings, and so, Ravage understood instantly why Soundwave had refused to tell him.

He was worried they were going to die. He hadn’t wanted Ravage--or the rest of the cassettes, worried with him.

The cat accepted this with a sigh, sending back his own apology mixed with admonishment. They were a team, a set. Soundwave didn’t have to shoulder burden's like that alone.

He leaned against his bosses leg, the two of them contemplating their gloom-ridden future, and the fact that dating Autobots might very well be the thing that saved it.

“That doesn’t explain how we’re going to get the rest of the Decepticons on board.” He said, forcing the conversation back to its original track, away from the horror of reality. “It may not be treasonous for the Autobots to flirt with us right now but it still is for us to flirt back.”

At least it got him his answer. “Ravage: underestimates situation. Decepticons: Bored. Distraction needed. Dating App: provides familiarity, way to contact enemy mutually. Opens communications with provided excuse for contact.”

“No one’s going to use the app as you intended just because they’re bored and hungry.” Ravage deadpanned, even as he flattened his audios so Soundwave could pet over them.

He couldn’t see  the mech smile, but he sure as pit felt it. “Ravage: Incorrect.” Soundwave told him smugly. “Number of Decepticons using _Sparkmates_ seriously: 4.” A pause, then with a voice that could only be considered teasing to those who knew him  very well, he added-- “5 if Ravage considered.”

Ravage glared, annoyed at being caught out.  “I am not using it. I’m using my comm’s, and only then too insure Hound that I wasn’t the one who’d tampered with our profiles so they’d only match to each other.”

Something he’d discovered straight-away, along with the prevention techniques Jazz and Soundwave had used to prevent Ravage from changing it.

Soundwave finally, turned away from the screens to address his companion. “Matches based on algorithm only.” He said, as though it wasn’t a blatant lie.

He got rolled optics in response. “Uh huh. I am many things boss but naive isn’t one of them. We both know who Hound’s real match was.”

Mirage.

Ravage acted annoyed, but let his thankfulness show in his field. He knew, logically, that Mirage was going to win that fight. That Hound hung on to Ravage only due to their shared history, before Ravage had stumbled over Soundwave, before the Autobots and Decepticons were a thing.

It was hard to let a good friend go, even when you were forced to fight them.

Still, he knew this was coming. It wasn’t right to keep Hound like this, knowing the mech was refusing to “pick” between himself and the idiotic noble.

It was time to let him go, especially now, with the match system in place.

Abruptly deciding he didn’t want to talk about it, he turned the conversation, away and went back to snarking. “So 4 mechs went for the bait. That doesn’t mean anyone is going to go on actual dates.”

Fingers drummed cheekily a-top Ravage’s head. “Agreed.” Soundwave said finally, before Ravage could threaten to relieve him of a few. “Consultation Needed. Twins summoned.”

Which would have invited a groan from anyone else, but Ravage knew his family. If anyone was going to get the core army to go on an Autobot dating spree it was Rumble and Frenzy.

Still--it would be a challenge. “I’ll be delighted to see how they manage it.” Ravage said.

Soundwave hummed. His fingers resumed drumming, only to stop a few seconds later, the playfulness in his field having completely chased the depressive gloom out.

“Ravage incorrect.” He said.

“About?”

“Mirage’s Match.” Two more taps, followed. Ravage jerked his head out from under his Carrier’s hand.

“Who is it then?” He asked, knowing that if Hound wasn’t Mirage’s top match, he still likely ranked high. The match system only assigned a match percentage after all.

“Mirage’s top match: Ravage.”

It took a moment for it to sink in, but when it did…

_“What.”_

Sounwave laughed as Ravage’s claws slipped, tearing lines into the floor.

xXx

Wheeljack was staring at a datapad. Had been, for most the meeting.

No one told him to turn it off, because everyone else was too involved in trying to find out who had made _Sparkmates._

“Well if it wasn’t the twins then _who was it!?_ ” It was physically impossible for Cybertronians to get red in the face, but Prowl was managing just fine anyway. His entire body trembled with the force of his anger, his gaze burning a hole in the dating app protected in the middle of the table.

It might have been because he’d matched 99% to three different bots, one of them being Megatron, but no one was tempted to ask.

“Does it really matter?” Jazz responded. He was the exact opposite of Prowl--chair tilted back, frame loose with a smile slung across his face. “I think Primus has made his stance pretty clear when it comes to cross faction romance.”

“You don’t get an opinion!” Prowl snapped. “I’m half a processor away from accusing you of this you absolute _fragging git-!_ ”

Jazz laughed at him.

Prime gave a regal sigh, his vents _whooshing_ with the effort. He cast a pleading look at Ratchet, who interpreted it for the cry for help it was.

Together, they tried to reign in the Autobot TIC and TIC respectively.

Without overheating Prowl.

“What are ya’ doing?” Ironhide grumbled in Wheeljack’s audio, making the inventor jump.

“Bantering.” He said, flashing a guilty smile at the mech. He tilted the datapad to show the screen--not that he needed to. Ironhide had been blatantly looking over his shoulder.

The _Sparkmates_ logo stood out, loud and clear on the page, making it obvious that Ironhide hadn’t so much cared for what Wheeljack was doing as he was calling attention to it.

“With who?” Ironhide drawled, optics focusing on the now exposed conversation.

“Mixmaster.” Wheeljack said-- then flipped open two more tabs, to show something Ironhide hadn’t caught.

It didn’t take long for the mech to figure it out though. “Is this...is this on two different social media platforms?”

Wheeljack flicked his field at the older bot, field playfully smug. “Mech you can’t call yourself a true multi-tasker if you can’t have two different conversations at once with the same person.”

“Guess not.” Ironhide said, setting back down in his chair. He shook his helm slowly, half at the madness unfolding before him and half at the fact that Wheeljack had actually gone and struck up a conversation with one of his “matches.”  “Bantering with Mixmaster.” He said, then shook his head a little harder.

Wheeljack could only shrug. “I was curious.” He said by way of explanation.

“‘Course you were.” Ironhide snorted through his vents, the sound ugly. “Most everyone is. That’s the entire point of this website.” That was aimed at partially at Jazz and partially at the Prime--the attention split because Ironhide couldn’t decide who was more likely to pull this stunt.

Both, probably.

Across the table from them Prowl had resorted to throwing anything he could get a-hold of at Jazz--who in turn, took it, laughing harder with each passing hit.

“I do not believe I would be honestly  matched with Megatron. Or--or _Skywarp!_ Clearly this was not intended to help us any!” Prowl said, having finally been persuaded to calm down. 

Jazz’s grin matched the near maniacal glee in his field.  “Mech I dunno, did you make sure your information was up to date?” He all but purred.

Which provoked another hiss of fury from Prowl and twin looks of disappointment from Prime and Ratchet.

In Jazz’s book, it was totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned before everyone is welcome to suggest pairings throughout most this fic, as mechs won't necessarily be ending up with their top match(es), but will instead be exploring their options as the website reveals new information (either changed from the mechs themselves or changed by Jazz or Soundwave.)


	5. Your Subordinates Have Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know what video I stole Swindle’s card trick from lol. I recommend going and watching it again though because it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all week. Also still on that G1 Breakdown/Knockout kick, though this Breakdown is a bit more fluid in his personality--he starts off as G1 and then inches a bit closer to Prime as we go. 
> 
> Think I'm gonna start mentioning the pairings in the chapter. This is Swindle/Blurr and Breakdown/Knockout.
> 
> Warnings: Dark energon (??? I'm kinda treating it like drug use) Breakdown's general self hate and the Dinbots getting all their sex ed from human TV (bad Wheeljack!)

 

* * *

 

Mass televised statements were cheap and easily corrupted.

Which is exactly why Prime didn’t typically do them.

Soundwave--through Jazz--however, had made a solid point about getting information out there and how using the Prime's channels rather than the Autobot's was a way to go about making it official. People would doubt, but once they realized the Autobots were serious, then it would open up a way for Soundwave to create excuses for Decepticons to take on dates. Particularly the Earth teams, under the guise of “information gathering.”

That didn’t make doing it any less awkward.

“To sum up.” Optimus said, addressing his entire room of slack-jawed Autobots and the broadcasting camera, “I am encouraging all Cybertronians to connect with each other through shared interests, in hopes furthering peace. Though originally a joke, we believe the _Sparkmates_ website is a wonderful starting point to do just that. Thank you.”

Thankfully, the broadcast ended directly before Grimlock’s puzzled “But which side is supposed to get pregnant?” started the second round of screaming that week (as well as an instantaneous reminder to Wheeljack that his creations primary understanding of relationships came from _terrible_ _human sitcoms_.)

xXx

The broadcast was sent to all those with access to the Prime’s channels. For most, it was watched instantly.

The reactions were varied.

Starscream for example, put his head in his hands, while the cassette twins high-fived over his helm. (for this had been _their_ idea, after all.) 

Ultra Magnus immediately sent a comm requesting further information and was quickly followed by most Autobot leaders (and more than one Decepticon one.)

Blurr, deep in a mission, got an idea.

xXx

Swindle was a fast mech.

Had to be, to run the kind of schemes he did. Because it wasn’t just the Autobots he screwed over, oh no. It was his whole species, several other species, and multiple star systems.

Sometimes, all at once.

Speed didn’t just correlate to the pace he moved at, either. It was the pace he thought, the way he read others body language and tone. Processed all that information away and changed his own response to achieve the desired result.

The keys to life after all; were money, reputation, and emotional manipulation.

So when he’d heard about a _lifetime_ opportunity in a very close star system that could directly parlay into a few _other_ opportunities, he couldn’t stay away.

Onslaught wouldn’t have approved but Onslaught wasn’t here. He was still on Earth while Swindle had been carted off weeks ago by one of the (very few) capable transport ships to go and perform his own namesake for the good of the Decepticon empire.

Which was exactly what he was doing. This was just a little--detour.

In a very nice casino with a very nice group of creatures, all of whom had a very, very nice little device that Swindle was going to go home with.

He just needed a distraction.

“So I have three cards--two jokers and an ace. Ace is on top.” Swindle presented the playing cards with a flourish, to the delight of the table of Irkens, before collapsing them back in a small stack. “All you have to do is tell me where the ace is.”

A thin, green finger flicked forwards. “On top.” The Irken said.

“Wrong!” Swindle said, revealing the top card, “It’s the joker! So now, you may think, oh, the ace must be on the bottom _,_ right? _”_ He flipped the bottom of the stack up, revealing the second joker.  "Wrong again! Which means the ace must be in the middle.” 

“Right.” One Irken said slowly, while the other two nodded.

“Wrong!” Swindled bellowed, flashing, of course, a joker. “So now you think I’m lying, that there never _was_ an ace but no, it’s right _here,_ you just have to _watch.”_ Swindle revealed the top card again, showing, of course, the ace. “You’re all hardened, bloodthirsty warriors, this is simple for you!”

One Irken snorted as the other two leaned forward, delighted grins showing off serrated teeth.

“Now forget about the ace, act like it never existed.” Swindle slowly pulled the three revealed cards back in a stack, making sure everyone saw they had gone into the same joker-ace-joker formation. “Tell me instead where the jokers are.”

By now a crowd was forming, Swindle’s table becoming popular as the impromptu “magician” continued to work the Irkens.

“Top and bottom.” The tallest Irken said. The crowd muttered agreements, watching Swindle’s cards.

“Nope, those are aces! Now you owe me 10 credits, come _on,_ pay attention!”  Swindle commanded, hands putting down the top and bottom cards, face up, showcasing two aces and getting a laugh from the crowd. The middle card he kept facing himself. 

The Irkens gawked, one asking when they'd started playing for money, but Swindle barged on. 

“Alright.” He said, leaning forward. The crowd leaned with him, drawn in to see how this would play out. “Last question, easy question. If these are two aces,” He tapped the cards laying on the table, “then what is _this_ card?” He wiggled the one in his hand. 

“...A joker?” The tallest Irken answered, voice less sure than before.

“ _No_ , it’s the king of diamonds! You said you were watching!”

Delighted gasps and laughter echoed as Swindle spun the card to show it had in fact, changed to the king of diamonds. One of the Irkens touched it, flabbergasted.

Swindle snatched it back.

“Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking. But where did the jokers go!?”

Affirmatives rained down from the crowd, now thoroughly entertained.

“Anyone have any guesses?” Swindle called out, positive no one did. Of course not, how could they? They weren’t fast. Not like him. 

“I do.” A voice said. A voice speaking the local trade language with a Cybertronian accent.

Swindle’s optics darted up, smile languid on his face even as his hidden weapons systems came online.

“I have it, in fact.” The voice continued, as the crowd parted to let  someone through. “It’s right here.” A smirk painted the face of the mech who approached and Swindle tensed, shrinking back.

Because Swindle was fast--but  Blurr was _faster._

He was also a Wrecker and they did not travel alone.

Blurr flipped a card down onto the table--a joker, Swindle realized. He looked at it, then back to Blurr, trying to judge how much trouble he was in.

The smug field didn’t give away much. “Some people know how to watch.” Blurr purred, leaning down and sliding the card towards Swindle in a manner that was a lot more flirty then deadly. “Some even, know how to play.” Blurr straightened, the crowd’s excitement echoing around him as people recognized him as Cybertron’s famous racer. Many a person in here had won a bet off the guy, making him an old, old favorite.

“Something to think about.” Blurr finished, as he effectively stole the crowd. He gave one, sultry wink before turning around, walking away and talking all the attention with him.

Swindle just sat there, shocked, processor scrambling to figure out Blurr’s game. He scanned the card before picking it up, examining it.

Written on it was a human style internet link, and one, perfectly doodled heart.  

Swindle wasn’t an idiot. Annoyed at the loss of attention (and thus, his failed distraction) but curious as to what Blurr could possibly want, Swindle went to the concierge to track down a datapad.

It didn’t take them long to locate one, nor did it take him long to punch in the address.

_Welcome to Sparkmates! User SWINDLE and user BLURR are a MATCH! Your best common interests are: oversized egos, cheating and sleeping your way to the top! ; ) Message your match now!_

_‘Well’_ Swindle thought, staring at the website’s numerous hearts and two photos he was positive neither he nor Blurr had uploaded, _‘Things just got interesting.’_

xXx

Megatron’s throne room was dark.

That didn’t mean the mech wasn’t in it.

The tyrant knew Soundwave was coming, but that didn’t stop his TIC from pausing just after the threshold. Wait for acknowledgement.

Red optics swiveled to focus on him, the once graceful movement almost jerky. “Soundwave.” Megatron rasped, and Soundwave approached.

“Intelligence gathered.” Soundwave reported, looking into his Lord’s eyes and not at the cup he was holding. “Autobot Statement, truthful. Optimus Prime: believes peace will be achieved through dating.”  

“Idiots.” Megatron half snarled, half slurred. “Let us destroy them from the inside, then.” The thick liquid sloshed around in the glass, the color so dark it could’ve been red or purple. Human blood or Cybertronian energon. Soundwave often thought the poison was an odd combination of both.

There was no point in asking--begging--Megatron to put the glass down.

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

Soundwave turned and left when it became clear that’s all Megatron would say,  praying once again a solution could be found to fix his lord. Megatron still had work to do, in this war. If peace was achieved, he was needed to insure that the reasons the war had begun were not repeated. Soundwave could do that of course--but Megatron could do it _better._

His lord was the one who had to make the change though. No one could force him to do it. He had to break himself free of the effects of the dark energon, understand what it had done to him--and to his army.

Now wasn't the time to think about it. 

Not when he had other things to focus on.

xXx

“Oh course _I’m_ matched to Optimus, I was molded after him!” Motormaster snarled, ripping the datapad out of Drag Strip’s hands. They’d originally grabbed five, but had managed to lose one and break two in the span of a few hours.

Which meant they had to _share._

Something none of them were good at.

“If the Prime is space Jesus,” Dead End pondered, going over all he knew about the Autobot Leader (which was, of course, everything the humans televised about him) “--wouldn’t that make you the Antichrist?”

“So!?” Spat Motormaster, as he slammed the datapad down on Wildrider’s head. It was effective in preventing his sibling from stealing said pad.

Unfortunately it also broke it in the process.

“If this all came from God or Primus or whatever, then I don’t think his match is you.” Dead End said, as Motormaster hurled the device into the wall.

“He’s right.” Drag Strip said from the couch, finger flicking through the surviving pad. “He’s not even on the site. Your highest matches are Cliffjumper and some bot I’ve never heard of.” Drag Strip squinted, looking at the mech. “Cute though.”

“Give me that.” Motormaster thundered, stomping over to Drag Strip.

The latter glared at him. “No. I haven’t looked at everyone elses matches yet.”

Motormaster reached for it anyways and their squabbling quickly escalated to punching, kicking, and table-turning.

Breakdown ignored it all.

The door to the cleaning closet shook, as someone--probably Drag Strip--was thrown into it, but no one came in. No one ever came in.

It was why Breakdown was curled inside. 

The “missing” fifth data pad illuminated his face, the _Sparkmates_ website loaded and happily waiting for him to log in. As it had been, for a solid thirty minutes.

He just had to do it.

Easier said than done.

He already had a profile. He knew he did. He knew what it said too.

 _‘Paranoid, delusional freak. Won’t look at anybody, won’t let anybody look at him. Doormat. Useless and only kept alive for his ability to turn into leg.’_ Then a large number of leg jokes.

It’d be insulting if it wasn’t all true.

Which begged the question--why bother to change it? No one would believe that Breakdown secretly liked romance novels or that he had an online rivalry with some asshole named Bulkhead. No one cared.

Why should his matches?

Why should he even want to log in?

Breakdown chewed on his lower lip plating, fingers tapping the edge of the datapad. He knew better than to bother, but he couldn't help the curiosity. He wasn't often included in things. Definitely not things like this. Not something were he was rated, given a top match.  

There was no harm in looking, right? It’s wasn't like the other mech could see Breakdown had visited his profile.

It took another ten minutes to hype himself up to do it--but finally, Breakdown logged in.

His highest match was the first thing to pop up.

Everyone that he knew of had been matched to an Autobot, so his surprise overcame his remaining fears when the first thing he saw was the Decepticon logo.

Then the photo registered and Breakdown straight up stopped thinking.

“Primus,” He whispered,  “ He’s _beautiful.”_

Breakdown began flicking through the photos, captivated, then poured over the (clearly re-written) profile.

Knockout, he decided halfway through, had a very appropriate name.

xXx

Somewhere, off planet, Knockout got a notification.

His highest match was viewing his profile.  
  
“Took you long enough.” He muttered, before typing out a message.


	6. Conference Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Mixmaster and Scavenger discover the robot, kinky version of icy-hot via Wheeljack, Sunstreaker goads Thundercracker into...something, Prowl is the poster on every ‘Cons wall and Mirage and Tracks are the original mean girls! 
> 
> Mixmaster’s vocal glitch is inspired by Sheer Dumb Luck by Dreaming of Everything over on fanfiction.net. An excellent Ratchet/constructicons fic, I'd go check it out! 
> 
> Warnings: This ones pretty tame, for all the talk about/around sex. It's a SFW chapter as well. 
> 
> Pairings: We have Tracks/Mirage/Drag Strip (sorta lol) Thundercracker/Sunstreaker/Sideswipe/Skywarp (not that they get to the foursome part) Wheeljack/Mixmaster/Scavenger, and Optimus/Starscream.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?”

The acidic, icy field hit Mirage before the shriekish vocals did, and he’d already donned his Noble Airs in time to offer a sneered response.

“Going on a date, Tracks. Not that you’d know what those are.” He shifted his stance, sliding into a pose that he knew accented his plating. Tracks in tandem, did the exact same thing.

“A better question is why _you’re_ here.” Mirage finished, field flicking at the other, former noble. A cascade of emotions went through them, a perfect blend of a taunt, a gloat, disgust and pleasure.

The truest mark of a Towers mech--talking in such a way, in such a tone, with such a field, as to utterly confuse your opponent and leave them unable to tell if they’d been insulted or not. 

Track’s field, likewise, did the same.

They didn’t like each other for paltry reasons after all, on no. Tracks and Mirage’s longstanding “disagreement” superseded the entire war, tied deeply into Towers’ Tradition.

It may also have been the only way for the two of them to feel remotely normal--after all they were some of the few surviving nobles left. A rivalry was the easiest of the Towers relationships to maintain, especially during a war.

Not that they’d ever tell anyone else that.

“For your information,” Tracks sniffed, a trick he’d picked up from Raoul. “I am also on a date.”

“Tracks,” Mirage tutted, “-we’ve been over this. Your hand doesn’t count.”

Tracks’ bristled response was interrupted by the loud approach of a pedes and the optic-searing glint of overly polished metal.

“Oh good you both made it.” Drag Strip said, gliding into the clearing. Or rather, tried to--his movements were more stiff than flowey. The natural stride of a newbie. “We can get started then.”

“Both of us...?” Mirage asked, the implication hitting fast. Drag Strip was the one he was supposed to be on a date with. If the mech himself said both then that meant…he looked to Tracks to verify, and found the mech looking equally affronted.

“What, you deaf?” Drag Strip snorted, an ugly sound as he came to stand in front of them. “Is that from like, audio damage? That’s a negative point for you.”

Pinpricks of rage bloomed in Mirage’s tank, but he held it in well.

“You scheduled to meet us--” Tracks said, outrage stopping his words.

Mirage picked them up. “--at the same time?” He finished. He didn’t need to clarify, not really. He did it anyway, if only to process his anger growing into an inferno.

Drag Strip shrugged. “Saves time, don’t it?”

“Time.” Mirage repeated, voice had gone past freezing, entering into a new dimension of promised pain that Jazz would have weaponized, had he heard it.

The two of them turned in unison towards the ‘Con, stepping shoulder to shoulder. Together they advanced, their seething fields finally giving Drag Strip pause.

“Hey,” The mech said, taking a careful, measured step back. “Hey, you’re supposed to fight _over_ me, not against! I’m the youngest _and_ most beautiful,  you only get one shot at this!”

Four optics narrowed instantly. Insults were set from “stun” to “kill.” The air dropped a noticeable ten degrees and were Drag Strip capable, he would’ve broken out in goosebumps.

Simply put, he’d fucked up.

“How could we ever fight over someone we were only going to settle for?”  Tracks purred, voice velvet with an edge.

Drag Strip’s optics popped, the insult landing as it was intended. “You both showed up, didn’t you?” He sputtered, scrambling for a fast response. “You’re the ones who need me!” He was trying to be haughty, trying to force the confidence now. He was the youngest, and everything he had ever seen (on Earth TV) said that meant he was now the best and brightest. The two mechs before him were _old news._

Right?

“The only thing we need you for is to show people what the cheaper option looks like.” Mirage said, voice so neutral it could’ve been political.

Another flinch. Mirage and Tracks split apart seamlessly, each moving to circle one side of Drag Strip and forcing the younger mech flick his gaze between them.

“You’re just--jealous.” Drag Strip announced. “I’ve replaced you both! _And_ you weren’t even my first dating choices, either!”

“Oh sweetspark,,” Tracks purred again, field dangerous. “If I wanted a comeback, I’d scrape it out from the back of your throat.”

In the minute that took the Stunticon to process, Mirage had already zeroed in on all the patchy-places on his armor. The places he’d failed to polish right, the small little bits he’d missed. Mirage pointed them out in detail, tutting and shaking his head the entire time. Tracks, circled past him, keeping up insults that came from years of someone who’d been forced to hold their tongue.

Professionals that they were, It only took them five minutes to make Drag Strip cry.

“The nerve.” Spat Tracks, after the young ‘Con had fled, blubbering about his plating, their plating and revenge the whole way.

“I knew this idiotic website was a bad idea.” Mirage agreed, arms crossed over his chest. “Children today. Primus.”

In terrifying unison, they both turned on a heel, and marched back to the Ark. It wasn’t often they had a reason to unite, but when they did…

Drag Strip wasn’t the only mech who was going to be crying by the end of the day.   


xXx

At the same time, in a different place, Wheeljack was _also_  on a date with two mechs that wasn’t going exactly how he had planned it.

Only difference was, the fact there were three mechs involved wasn’t the issue.

“So you’re saying my competition is _Prowl?”_  

Scavenger, helm firmly buried in his hands, could only make an embarrassed noise. Mixmaster wasn’t faring much better, faceplates having gone scarlet with heat the second he’d realized his mistake.

Curse his fragging, awful, _glitched mouth-!_

Wheeljack’s amused smile was hidden behind his facemask. His lights however, betrayed him as they flashed a number of colors.

Neither 'Con was looking at them anyway, neither wanting to interpret their dates emotions right just then. 

“No, seriously.” He said when neither ‘Con was more forthcoming. “I kinda need you to expand on this.” Like a lot. Like _a lot_ , a lot.

Not because he wanted to be compared to Prowl--but because this was becoming a _thing._

It would have been easy to ignore  if it was just one or two ‘Cons who’d mentioned a passing fancy over Prowl, but no. The more the Autobots interacted with the Decepticons, the more they were all finding out how much of a crush the entire fragging ‘Con army had on their sullen second.

Nevermind Prowl’s own reaction to his constantly barraged inbox.

(“Don’t they have anything better to do!?” He snarled, during the last now-daily Command meeting. His fingers had gripped the ends of the table threateningly, but it had long been Prowl-proofed and thus, was not in danger of flipping over.

“Of course, but they’d rather be doing you.”

Prowl had immediately turned to Jazz to chasitize him, only for his processor to catch up to his audios. He’d whipped about, staring at Red Alert in abject horror and something akin to bitter betrayal, as Jazz whooped and high fived the embarrassed mech.

 _“Finally,_ my lessons pay off!” Jazz trumpeted, pleased his decades long goal of trying to help Red Alert’s social anxiety (among his many others) had finally gone somewhere.

Red Alert practically sunk into his seat from the resounding compliments. Prowl looked ready to murder--and life went on.)

Mixmaster was mumbling something that could barely be heard.

“What?” Wheeljack asked, leaning forward. There were bets riding on this answer, after all!

“...He’s really hot.” Mixmaster mumbled again, for once annoyed his vocalizer couldn’t glitch then. Oh no, nope, only when it was inconvenient for him did it act up. Which apparently, was all the time except _right fragging now._

Scavenger’s embarrassed noise turned into a whine.

Wheeljack just stared. “That can’t be all.” He said. Really, there were a lot of traditionally hot mechs in the ‘Bot army. Some model-esque ones as well. Nevermind the actual former model and okay, he was getting off track.

It was just that of all the mechs for an entire army to hyper-focus on, Prowl wouldn’t have been high on Wheeljack’s list.

Taking a deep vent, the smaller (at least in terms of the rest of the gestalt) mech braved a look at his date. “This is--really not attractive. I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have brought it up--”

“No seriously. Spill.” Wheeljack interrupted. A pause and then “If I don’t get it out of one of you, I’m asking Hook.”

Hook, who would absolutely tell Wheeljack why Prowl was so attractive, because he’d been one of the top message spammers to ever hit Prowls inbox.

“His con--trol. His co--mand. He--’s…” Mixmaster trailed off.  

Scavenger filled in. “Intimidatingly powerful. And super smart. Like if he was a ‘Con, he’d without a doubt be at the top. Probably replace ol’ Screamer himself. What he can do with that tac-net of his…” Scavenger drifted off, one fang worrying his lip. “If it was guaranteed he’d be the one doing the interrogations I think your brig would be a lot more full.”

“Would you be in it?” Wheeljack asked, because teasing was absolutely in order here.

The embarrassed whine came back.

“L--ook, we want to date _you_ , not Prowl.” Mixmaster said, in a desperate bid to get the conversation back on track. “That is why we are here.” His tone had grown more forceful, his words careful, pronounced and monosyllabic.

Wheeljack frowned, wondering if he could get the mech to relax--or be embarrassed-- enough to once again to let his glitch slip. It was clearly a sore spot and judging by the records Wheeljack had dug up on the Constructicons, a glitch that was happening at processor level. Not exactly something fixable.

He hadn’t cared. Wanted to get across that he didn’t care.

But he couldn’t think of a way to do that without coming off poorly and so, dropped it. This was just the first date, after all. Scavenger had been added in last minute to it, but Wheeljack found he enjoyed the smaller mechs company just as much.

Speaking of, Scavenger’s face and field looked like it was about to evaporate from sheer embarrassment. He’d tease more, but then, Wheeljack had the information he wanted, and a perfectly good idea of how to spin this into something _much_ more fun.

“So what I’m hearing is, since your gestalts split on who to go for, I’m gonna have to up my game?”  He said, field flicking against his dates to show his playfulness. He wasn’t upset, not at all. He was however, aware that mechs who made up Devastator were in search of one individual to date, as a whole. 

He also knew, as the Constructicons did, that there weren’t a lot of mechs willing to date five mechs at once.

Particularly not Prowl.

Wheeljack on the other hand, was. He was also rather convincing, when he wanted to be.

“We were the ones to come to you.” Mixmaster was saying, voice clipped as he struggled speak in a way that didn’t betray him. “You do not have to do any--thing.” Which played very nicely into the scientists hands.

Helm-fins flashed purple, tinged at the ends with a bright  red.  “Aw, what if I want to?” He said, winking.

“It’s not fair of us to ask you to do anything.” Scavenger said, as if he hadn’t noticed Mixmaster’s face alight with heat.  

“Don’t worry, what I’ve got in mind is fun.” The purple flashes were being over-taken by red ones. He saw both mechs watching that, both knowing that meant--something. Both trying to figure it out."--and it might just catch the attention of your other halfs.”

Wheeljack’s grin grew as both mechs looked taken aback at that.

As if the inventor didn’t know how their gestalt worked.

Wheeljack withheld his chuckle, along with the knowledge he’d been studying them for combat reasons long before this whole Primus-sparkmates-online dating bit had come up.

He reached into his sub-space--still keeping his movements slow and careful. Just because he’d been speaking to Mixmaster--and now Scavenger--for the better part of a week, didn’t mean either party was stupid or that history had been erased between them all--and pulled out a small bottle. A green liquid rolled lazily with in, it’s edges flashing a gold hue when the inventor held it up to the light.

Mixmaster’s jaw hit the floor.

“Is that?” He asked, hand hesitantly coming up to touch the bottle, before stopping himself.

“What you think it is? Probably.” Wheeljack’s voice radiated smugness now, he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Can I…?”

Wheeljack handed it over into gentle, waiting hands.

Scavenger peered over his gestalt member’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s got a lot of names, but when it peaked around Cybertron it was called Crave.” Wheeljack said lazily, leaning back into his chair.

Mixmaster was holding it like one might hold a priceless gem.

Scanger just looked puzzled. “What’s it do?” He asked. Wheeljack wasn’t sure who that question was directed at--himself, or Mixmaster.

He answered anyway. “It’s a sensory stimulant.”

“A drug?”

“No.” Mixmaster said. “Not in the tra--diti--on--al sense--it is top--ical. It height--ens the plat--ing’s ability to feel.” He pulled his field in, but not before everyone got a taste of his arousal.

“Think of it this way.” Wheeljack said, noting Scavengers lost expression. “Humans have a number of liquids they put on their skin to achieve different effects. This is a lot like that--it causes a cold and heating sensation, and heightens your ability to feel touch.” He held out an arm, fluffing up a piece of his armor along his bicep to show the delicate protoform beneath.

He did not grin at the appreciative looks doing so got him. Nope. No sir! “You can apply it directly to the protoform,” He said, slowly dipping a finger into a seam, and tracing upwards. “Or to--other, places.” His fingers traced up his arm, across his chest and down. "It can make things get...intense." 

Two sets of optics followed his fingers, both hungry.

“So.” He purred, leaning forward. “Want to try it out?”

Of course they did. 

xXx

“Bite me, flyboy.” A couple of muffled noises and then, _Fuck,_ you , you  _fragger-!_ ”

“What?” A separate, overly innocent voice answered. “I did as you asked.”

“I wasn’t being literal, dumbass-!”

A _Thud!_ sounded, announcing two heavy frames being booted from a berth.

“You did that on purpose!”

“ _No,_ but _you_ did you--”

Tangled with his own seeker (in a much more positive, exhausted, we’re-taking-a-break kind of way) Sideswipe watched as his twin and Thundercracker rolled over each other on the floor.

“Are they having sex or committing minor assault?” Skywarp stage-whispered in his audio. The mech’s vents were still spinning, his chest heaving in time with Sideswipe’s own. They at least, had fun. 

The frontliner leaned back, resting his helm against board shoulders.

“Both?” He guessed, wincing as Sunstreaker’s claws came into play.

They were one of the few Autobot’s to have such mods and usually, they were very careful to hide them around people they liked. Particularly people they were trying to berth.

Of course, Sideswipe wasn’t exactly sure if Sunstreaker was still trying to do either of those things, at this point.

Something that maybe, he should remind his brother of, and the more he thought about it the more he decided getting up and telling Sunny to either leave or settle in would be a good idea. Before things escalated. 

A hand on his shoulder stayed him before he could do more than shift forward. “Leave ‘em.” Skywarp said, not at all concerned. “They’ll figure it out or they won’t. TC ain’t gonna attack with his bits out though so I’m pretty sure your bro is safe.” Both optics went to the blue seekers barred array, then to Sunstreaker’s own.

“I thought they- _-we_ \--wanted this?” Sideswipe whined, annoyed his dreams of a brutally beautiful foursome were being shattered right before his optics.

He felt Skywarp’s answering shrug. “You n’ I did--only you would know about your brother. And TC…” He trailed off, watching his trinemate once again roll with the golden twin. “He’s a romantic at spark. He puts on a good act but he’s more one for mushy shit.”

Sideswipe turned to stare at the seeker. “You’re kidding.” He said.

“Nope. Total sap.” He shifted his weight so he could lift one hand up and point a finger at his trinemate. “That whole uber aggressive dominating vibe Sunbeam’s got there? Not doin’ it for him.”

“You guys have _gentle sex?_ ” Sideswipe couldn’t help but ask. Not because it was unreasonable but because he just couldn’t see it.

Skywarp snorted, a neat trick to pull off with flyer-vents. “Nah. That’s why we’re looking for partners.”

Frown now painting his face, Sideswipe settled back down, against Skywarp’s chest. “Pity.” He said. “You were good.”

“Hey, I never said _I_ was looking for mushy shit.” Skywarp corrected, bringing his free arm to cuddle his frontliner closer. “I am perfectly into what your twin’s got goin’ on there.”

One optic ridge raised. “You’d be fine playing without TC?”

“Of course. We’re trine, not attached at the spark.” He paused, watching as Thundercracker and Sunstreaker abruptly rolled the other way. "I wouldn't discount TC yet though, he might still be in for this." 

SIdeswipe ignored the last part, focusing on the first. “Kinda thought that trine was just that--a spark bond.” He asked. It was part of the reason he and Sunny had gone after them--seekers understood weird, non-typical spark bonds. 

“It’s hard to explain--and it’s different for every trine. But we’re not typically romantically involved with each other. We’re just,” Skywarp paused, automatically raising his optics as though physically looking for the word he wanted in the ceiling. “-family.” He decided on.

The other optic ridge raised. “Even Starscream?”

A snicker. “Even Starscream.”

They both stopped for a moment to watch as the other set of seeker and frontliner finally agreed on something. Or at least, appeared to.

It might have just been pleasure finally over-riding poor personalities.

“Hey,” Sideswipe asked, turning completely around now that his twin and Thundercracker were no longer in danger of committing (or being) murdered. “I always wanted to ask. How’s he in bed?”

Skywarp was quick to catch on. “Screamer? He's the world's biggest prude. Always said science was more important and that sex was boring anyway.” Two optics rolled dramatically, Sideswipe snickered.  “The second someone gives him a real good orgasm he's gonna lock em down so fast they won't know what hit 'em." 

“Are you saying _you_ couldn't achieve that?” The red twin asked, finally listening to his own body and the fact it was very much ready to go again.

“I’m saying he didn’t want it.” The hand holding Sideswipe’s middle became playful, dipping in between red plating. “I can give anyone a real good orgasm. If persuaded,” the fingers traveled downwards, slowly dragging through the seams, “-I might even give a great one.”

“Oh?” Interest piqued, Sideswipe arched into Skywarp’s touch. “And how does one persuade you to do that?”

Skywarp’s helm dipped, teeth scraping a line across Sideswipe’s neck. “I’m sure you can think of something.” He whispered, voice deepening as his own array heated.

Sideswipe grinned--and did.

He was happy to report later that it was, in fact, a great orgasm.   


xXx

  
High up, on the same cliff they always met on, Starscream was seated firmly in Optimus's lap. “Mine,” He said, optics blown wide and near white. His claws clenched hard at the bigger mechs chest armor, legs firmly around his waist. “You. Are. _Mine.”_

Tired, but very, very pleased, Optimus gave his future spark-mate a grin. “Yours.” He agreed, before risking a gentle kiss to the side of Starscream’s helm. It was accepted without insult, causing the warmth in Optimus’s spark to spread.

Perhaps there was some wisdom to Primus’s plans, after all.

Not that he’d tell the fragger that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the Wreckers come to Earth--and so do the Scavengers!


	7. Company Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to write this chapter in 30 minute intervals ugh it was the worst ya'll. Working overtime is haaaaard. This chapter was meant to have Cyclonus’s series of Bad Minibot Dates but it was so long it became its own chapter. I hope the Drift and Ratchet cuteness make up for it!
> 
> I also have never really gotten a chance to flesh out the cassette twins, esp vs the lambo twins but I always love to write them as an incredibly smart version of Tweedles Dee and Dum. Like the lambo twins are these extreme badass versions of Miguel and Tulio from The Road to El Dorado, but the cassette twins are the ones that unsettle you a lot faster, mostly because they don’t seem to obey the laws of physics. 
> 
> Pairings here: Krok/Kup, Drift/Ratchet, Optimus Prime/Starscream and onesided Sixshot/Prowl.

 

* * *

 

Deep inside yet another cleaning closet Breakdown was living up to his name.

Knock Out had messaged him.

Breakdown messaged back.

And now they were having a conversation. One that was going well even!

It was too much but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t focus on much beyond what he was going to say, then spending an hour typing a message, then another hour to get up the courage to send it…

It was an almost welcome distraction when Bulkhead messaged him.

_Get ready loser, I’m coming to earth to kick your aft!_

Now that he could handle.

He quickly googled for comebacks before sending the snappiest one he could find back.

_Whatever you giant trash can! The 80s called, they said they want their lines back!_

If nothing else, Bulkhead could at least be a distraction!

xXx

After several arguments, multiple conference calls and one very long "conversation" with Blurr, the Wreckers were finally approaching earth.

Ultra Magnus wondered if there was enough time to turn the ship around.

He wouldn’t of course. To do so would be to directly disobey Autobot high command.  He worried however, that something had gotten into the Prime. To so abruptly announce that there was a ceasefire with no other explanation than the fact that cross faction dating was now allowed…

Kup snorted, an ugly noise coming out of his vents. “Kid you know _exactly_ what’s gotten into the Prime. Can’t say I don’t blame him though.” A thoughtful look crossed his face, despite it being deeply buried in a datapad. “Think of how quickly we coulda ended this war if he chased after that Seeker sooner.”

Magnus’s faceplates heated because that response meant he’d been muttering out loud again.

At least it was just Kup. Everyone else was far too involved in either making themselves “look presentable” or taking bets as to who had already hooked up with whom.

It left all the worry to come down on Magnus’s shoulders.

“Do you think this is the right choice?” Ultra Magnus murmured. He wasn’t one to second guess but this wasn’t just unusual, it was _insane_. It reeked of a Decepticon trap. Particularly since the Wrecker’s ship had been the closest one to Earth, and absolutely because they’d ended up towing a drifting ‘Con ship on the way in!

The _Weak Anthropic Principle_ seemed to be full of lower end ‘Cons, but Decepticons were named rather aptly. The Scavengers could easily be lying! Even if their leader looked like a downtrodden father figure more than an actual, well, leader.  

It would be risky, to summon one of the strongest set of fighters in the Autobot army into a trap, but then, the mechs they’d be facing would be of equal, if not a higher, strength than theirs. They would be facing the Decepticon’s high command, which included Megatron and Soundwave among other elites. If Ultra Magnus had significantly lesser morals, this is the exact kind of scheme he would run if only because it meant he could take all his stronger enemies out one by one.

This was _such_ a bad idea.

“Too late to back out now.” Kup said. Not once had his optics left the datapad and the nerve of that was starting to get to Ultra Magnus. It wasn’t just lack of military decorum, it was just plain _rude._ Nevermind the constant tapping! Kup was blatantly talking to someone else on that pad. Rude. So, _so_ rude!

“If nothing else, it will prove to be interesting.” Rung said, startling both mechs, mostly because neither had realized he was on the bridge. “While it’s good to be cautious, the emotional ties dating will provide will strengthen any kind of continuing peace between factions. I think it is something to be encouraged.”

It got him two blank stares, before Kup snorted again. “You _would_ say something like that.” He muttered, attention returning to the datapad.

Rung politely ignored him.

“You can’t tell me either of you plan on following through with dating Decepticons.”  Ultra Magnus said, unable to keep the horror out of his voice. The idea of it was awful, nevermind the security breach and yes, yes something had to have happened for Optimus to even consider this! Not to mention Red Alert! That mech had to be dead for something like this to even be discussed let alone followed through with!

They were absolutely going to land surrounded by Decepticons, and everyone would be to distracted by who they could frag to realize it until it was all over.

“I will not, but I believe Kup here already has a date.” Rung said a teasing note in his voice. “He’s talking to him now, in fact.”

The horror increased ten fold. Magnus turned betrayed optics on the formerly trusty mech, optics the widest they’d been in a solid decade.

Kup’s optics, on the other hand, rolled. “I am talking to the leader of the Scavengers, because _someone_ kept freaking them out.”

The fact that he did in fact, already have a date with said leader was neither here nor there. He was old enough to not give a shit, so that’s exactly what he did.  

“Just you wait till some pretty young ‘’Con lights up your inbox.” Kup added accusingly. “See how you do.”

“I don’t have a profile, so I think I’m fairly safe.” Rung replied, then froze as he realized his mistake.

“Oh?” Kup’s optics flicked up from the datapad, focusing onto Rung’s. “We’ll have to fix that then, won’t we?”

Rung frowned. “Please don’t.”

The smile he got for an answer was all he needed to know he was screwed.

“Too late mech. Too late.” Kup said, forming a message to Jazz before he’d finished speaking.

Jazz’s response was lightning fast.

“Ah lookit that. Good ol’ Spec Ops is right on it!” Kup added, finally powering off his datapad.

“A profile does not guarantee I will get any dates. I doubt anyone knows who I am.” Rung deflected. He wasn't even supposed to be on this ship after all--he'd only gotten caught up because he was doing his annual rounds. The Wreckers were required to be cleared every five years by a professional therapist. Rung personally, shortened it to two when he was able. 

Which launched another entirely different, if somewhat old argument, one Magnus knew better than to intervene in.

He decided it would be much simpler to initiate the landing gear instead.

Even if doing so lead to everyone on board getting brutally murdered.

xXx

“Primus Drift, you get any shinier and you’re going to _blind_ people.”

“You think it’s too much?” The ex-Con asked, turning to stare at himself in the mirror. He was awfully shiny. They had a minute, he could do--something!

“Bro.” Rodimus said, grabbing a hold of his shoulder. “Vent for a second. It’s gonna be okay.”

The two of them were in their shared hab, once again fighting off Drift’s panic at having to land on Earth. Rodimus, personally, thought he was doing an excellent job as Supportive Best Friend, but they both knew Drift wouldn’t stop freaking out until the day was done.

Possibly longer, depending on how things went.

“What if he’s not…”Drift started before trailing off. “What if I’m not what he was expecting?  What if he decides I’m too different in person?” ‘ _What if he sees me and can’t get past all the people I’ve killed…’_

But that was a thought Drift kept to himself.

“Then he wasn’t worth it.” Rodimus said firmly. “And I’ll kick his aft.”

That got a laugh. “You? Kick Ratchet’s aft?”

“For you? Frag yeah!”

The two stared at each other for a moment, before both broke out into grins. It hadn’t been long really, that they had known each other. They both had had a lifetime of horrors they had faced down, nevermind a lifetime of disappointing others.

The fact they now had someone who stood with them against all that was still new, but freeing in the best kind of way.

“Thanks, Roddy.” Drift said quietly, leaning his forehead against his best friends.

“Anytime.” Rodimus whispered back.

An alarm went off overhead--the ship had initiated it’s landing sequence. The two of them hustled to where everyone was waiting, having officially been cleared for leave until Ultra Magnus decided they were otherwise.

He took a deep vent as the ship docked. Another as the crew gathered in front of the exit doors.

Light blinded him as it went down (--and several others, as it reflected out his plating, prompting several annoyed grumbles his way.) Ultra Magnus was shouting something about being on your guard or some such.

He didn’t hear it though, because the second the doors hissed open, his entire focus was on Ratchet.

xXx

The ships were in fact, surrounding by Decepticons. They was also surrounded by Autobots. Both of whom were sharking about trying to catch glimpses of the fresh metal--er, mechs, who where now totally up for grabs dating wise--but still.

It was a very odd sight to walk into.  

Each faction had essentially claimed a side, the cease-fire still painfully tentative, with only a handful from each side’s high command standing together in the center. Five in fact--Optimus with Starscream, Jazz with Soundwave, and Ratchet, all alone.

If things went his way today, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

The CMO didn’t want to put pressure on things. Didn’t know how this was going to shake out. How him and Drift were going to shake out. He’d been surprised as hell a few decades ago, when the ‘Con had contacted him, at the behest of Kup. Explained how he’d come into the Wrecker’s hands, how he had given up his former life. Changed his name back, exchanged his purple badge for a red one.

Talked about his regrets--and how Ratchet was his biggest one of all.

 _‘I don’t expect a response to this message, even though I’d love one. Even if it’s just getting cursed out. I desire anything--everything--you have to say to me, and I know ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough. Won’t be enough. I can’t ever own up to what I’ve done but I wanted you to know how much you’ve meant to me. How much you currently mean to me._ ’

Of course Ratchet had replied. Drift had always been his biggest regret too--how could he not be? He hadn’t forgiven Drift, but he hadn’t entirely blamed him either, and the result was that the two of them had been talking daily for a stupidly long amount of time. They had video chatted, sent comms, played stupid online games--Primus, once Drift had the gall to call up a human flower shop and have a custom set delivered to the Ark!

Which was---great. It was. Having someone who cared for you like that, who you connected with, was amazing.

Ratchet just wasn’t sure it would be the same in person. Mannerisms meant everything. Personality was different in person than through a computer screen. He hadn’t seen Drift for the better part of several centuries in person and despite how they had flirted, Ratchet knew what he looked like.

Flirting for fun was one thing. Harmless, when neither party wanted to start anything long distance.

Meeting in person changed all that.

Ratchet had a lifetime of setting aside fears, and did so now, taking a vent as each ship (or rather, one ship and one floating piece of garbage, how in the pit did that thing fly!?) finally finished their cooldown sequences.  

The doors to both ships opened nearly instantaneously. The Wreckers, lead by a twitchy Ultra Magnus, walked easily down the ramp, while the Scavengers stacked their heads like a _Scooby Doo_ cartoon before someone behind them grunted and shoved them all forward.

Optimus stepped forward, waiting preciously for the right moment when all the crew members were out before launching into a Welcome Speech. Starscream was quick to step up with him and  quicker to interrupt, but as he always did the Autobot Leader simply rolled with it as though that had been intended.

“We ask that your leaders accompany us for a quick meeting so we can cement our current ceasefire agreements. The rest of you have been pinged with a welcome packet containing all the information you should need. Please feel free to mingle--”

 _“Without_ engaging in combat.” Starscream finished accusingly.  

The speech hadn’t been long, but everyone had gotten fidgety during it. Most likely due to the surrounding mechs and their laser focus on the new arrivals. The Wreckers took to disappearing into the Autobot side immediately with only a few exceptions, while the Scavengers tried to inch their way to the ‘Cons. Amusingly, they seemed to be examining their own side with the same look of frightened intensity they’d given the ‘Bots, with the sole exception of the tall one in the back who finally stepped around them to stride forward. The purple mech looked shockingly familiar, something Ratchet would have focused on--

If Drift hadn’t stepped into his line of sight.

Light shown off white plating. Curves were outlined by a gorgeous red stripes and Ratchet’s thoughts stalled out completely when he met shy blue optics.

He had meant to call out a greeting.

He had meant to at least uncross his arms!

Instead he stood frozen, like a youngling on a first date, as Drift floated up to meet him.

“Hey.” The ex-Con said, stopping a foot or so in front of the CMO.

“Hey.” Ratchet returned. His own voice startled him--rough, low. This wasn’t how he had intended this to go, but he couldn’t think to do anything else. Couldn’t think at all really.

They stared at each other for a moment, stances awkward. Drift rubbed his arm, ducked his helm. Ratchet kept his stare, his fingers flexing on his own plating.

“Are we still on for that private tour of the Ark?” Drift asked finally, field hesitant.

Right, right, _that’s_ what he was supposed to be doing! Ark tour. He could do an Ark tour!  Ratchet gave him a smile. “Of course, kid.”

Drift’s head popped up, as it had hundreds of times in the video chat when Ratchet called him that. “We’re practically the same age!” He protested, the words familiar even if they were no longer tinny through computer speakers.  

It was the magical exchange needed they needed. Relief eased into both their fields, smiles growing easy instead of forced. Tension dropped from Drift’s shoulders the same time Ratchet uncrossed his arms, the two turning together to walk towards the Autobot base. Small talk quickly turned to something bigger.  

It didn’t mean that things were going to work out. It did mean that they were both willing to try.

Ratchet would settle for that.

He reached out. Brushed fingers against Drifts. Drifts reacted automatically, intwinning their fingers together.

Ratchet squeezed once.

Drift eagerly squeezed back.

Both refused to let go.

xXx

Krok had a weird kind of luck.

He had survived through to the current part of the war. Had picked up a rag tag crew that wasn’t the best or brightest, but significantly more in line with his own lines of thinking (passive aggressive old friends of Misfire aside.) He might even have survived to the end of the war, if this whole cease-fire thing held, and he was going to get to see it close up because the ship had gone tits up during the exact same moment some random Autobot ship had been driving past.

Now, he had landed a date with a seriously handsome older Autobot who’d been on said ship--and was now approaching him.

In person.

“Remember what we talked about!” Hissed Crankcase, in one audio, while Spinster muttered something about green plating being good financial luck in his other. Krok ignored both of them, focusing instead on Kup as the mech swaggered towards them.

“Krok!” Kup called out, voice deep and gruff. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“You to!” Krok said, then held out his hand for a handshake like a complete fragging idiot.  

Behind him, Fulcrum shook his head.

Kup didn’t even slow down. He picked Krok’s hand up, flipping it over and brought it to his mouth to give the back of it a kiss.

 _Primus_ was the mech smooth!

“I have to go help wrangle the Wreckers and get ‘em all settled, but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” Kup said, deep rumbling voice going straight through Krok’s spark.

Somehow, he managed to get a response out, despite being entirely focused on trying to keep his fans from kicking on.

The entire Scavenger crew watched as Kup sauntered away, jaws slack.

“Whoa.” Misfire said finally.

“No kidding!” Rumble said out of nowhere, startling the entire crew. He ignored Misfire’s shriek and Fulcrum’s dramatic sidestep so he could slap Krok on the thigh--the highest part of the mech he could reach. “Have to say we’re all impressed. I dunno if I would’ve had the metal to let the Wreckers tow me in, no matter the circumstances!”

“The--what?” Krok said, optics shooting wide.

“And to agree to go on a date with one!” Frenzy said, appearing at his left like a demented jack in the box. “You guys must be some kind of crazy amazing task force to be that confident!” The two of them traded smiles that could have been amazed but looked a lot more like they were secretly laughing at Krok. “You’ll have to tell us if the whole “Wreckers wreck in bed” thing is true.”

“We want all the details!” One finished. Nobody could tell which one said it that time, and no one asked.

The two trotted away, trading snickers, disappearing as fast as they had appeared.

“I did _what?_ ” Krok croaked. He traded a look with the rest of the Scavengers, all of whom looked equally startled (minus Cyclonus, but he wasn’t really a Scavenger anyway.)

“Kup is a...a…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His handsome, stunning, silver turbofox date was a Wrecker!?

He had agreed to go on a date--with a _Wrecker!?_

Some fragging luck he had!

xXx

Ironhide didn’t want to be here.

Ultra Magnus had quickly been pulled into the newest round of peace treaty talks once he’d landed (mostly upon his own insistence, and only after he’d been assured repeatedly that this really was all happening.)

The leader of the Scavengers was quickly deemed unimportant, and thus was dismissed from the discussion. Something the mech seemed thankful for, not that Ironhide could blame him there.

He’d avoided coming to the damn landing to begin with for a _reason._

Particularly since the entire time he’d been in this meeting, he was absolutely positive Prime was flirting with Starscream in politics-speak.

“Excellent idea Starscream.” Optimus was saying in response to some inane idea, which had the oddest effect of making the Seeker freeze.

Everyone in the room noticed it.

“Of course it is, it came from me.” Starscream said but there was an edge to his voice and field.

Optimus purposefully ignored it. Following his lead, as they had been since The Weirdness had started, so did everyone else.  

With one exception.

“I’m not so sure.” Ultra Magnus said, the only person Ironhide thought was actually dense enough to not realize what was happening. “This is a lot of information and I’ve only had a chance to look through the first forty sources or so…”

“No,” That was spoken in a deep rumble and holy fragging shit, he _was_ flirting! “Starscream is right. I bow to his superior knowledge on the matter.”

Starscream outright shuddered.

“Primus you two get a room.” Ironhide groaned, hating everything that had to do with his entire existence the last few weeks. A ceasefire was good and all but for frags sake he hadn’t signed up to witness all this!

Everyone (including Magnus) looked to him, then to Prime.

Prime ignored him and his outburst--so they did too.

Ugh.

“Query: Prowl not needed for signatures?” Soundwave asked, fingers pausing from their constant dance on his datapad.

“Nah he’ll add his later.” Jazz said. He glanced up at his rival, showcasing his smirk. “He’s a little _nervous_ about being around all the ‘Cons right now.”

Nervous of course wasn’t the right word at all, but Jazz wasn’t going to pass up a jab.

He liked Prowl he did--he just liked teasing him _more._

“Understood.” Soundwave said, thinking on the illegal production of posters currently running rampant in the Nemesis, and how Prowl was the primary person requested for them.

He didn’t blame the mech whatsoever for refusing to go anywhere near the majority of the ‘Con army just then. Particularly since Soundwave wasn’t sure he could control them all if he did.

Which got them down to the last parts of there meeting--finally--and unfortunately, reminded Ironhide of something else he’d been avoiding thinking about. Purely because if he acknowledged it, he’d have to deal with it.

He’d have to deal with it anyway though, seeing as it--or they--were under his jurisdiction. Best to get it over with now, before they did something terrible.

“Speaking of Prowl, did he take the Twins? I haven’t seen them for a few days.”

He got a lot of shrugs in response.

“Great.” Ironhide muttered. Technically those two where his responsibility, though they responded better to Prowl than they did him. That didn’t meant any idiotic prank of theirs would be Prowl’s responsibility oh no. It was Ironhide's, and he was gonna have to be the one to apologize to offended Cons.

“I’ll go find them.” He muttered, not bothering to wait until the meeting had officially ended. No need, not with half the mechs in the room eye-fucking each other.

Ultra Magnus watched his departure with a frown but if the mech was as smart as he said he was, he’d bail too.

Stupid fragging date related ceasefire!

 

xXx

“Once upon a time there was a mech who lived in a base across the universe, from another mech who he admired. He made up a thousand games where one was King, and the other Queen.”

A snicker was quickly covered by a cough, as two sets of venomous blue optics shot to a third.

“Sorry.” Sideswipe intoned, biting a lip. “Continue.”

“I am that King-- _Sideswipe.”_

“I’m sorry!” The red twin shook with barely suppressed laughter. “I can’t--come on, this is _funny!”_

“I’ll let Prowl flip a table on your head.” Threatened Sunstreaker.

Prowl, who sat at his (already overturned) desk, across from the twins, simply deadpanned;  “Let?”

Sunstreaker eyed the TIC and the raw fury coming off him. “Won’t stop.” He corrected after a moment. One of the few times he’d bowed easily to Prowl, and only then because they were in Prowl’s office alone and Prowl looked two seconds from glitching.

The entire reason they had been called in here, Sunstreaker thought, was to prevent Prowl from glitching.

They also might have been getting a new target for their hit list but personally, he was convinced the two things were related.

“Sorry, sorry.” Sideswipe gasped, then took a few shuddering vents. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” Sunstreaker went back to reading the message. Nearly a hundred copies of it had been sent, all across multiple platforms. Some of those platforms showed serious security breaches, adding insult to injury.

“I am that King,” He restarted, “and I hope to make you my Queen. Here is a poem I made just for you. I have titled A Promise for my Prowl.” Sunstreaker paused here, optics darting over the words. His mouth thinned, for a moment,  but he braved on quickly.

Sideswipe hiccuped.

“I promise to love you for every moment of forever, and when everything else crumbles, I will never. I want to be your sunset optics, those blue skies. I want to be the shore kissed by the sea, I want to have everything causally, I want you and me. I want to be the waves when they dance alone, the midnight tone, I want to be your,” A long, pause, then a choked out “-back bone.”

That did it. Sideswipe folded in on himself, burying his face in his hands as he succumbed.

Sunstreaker gave an apologetic look to Prowl, before setting the datapad down.

“Are you sure Sixshot sent this?” He asked, over his twins hysterical laughter.

“Yes.” Prowl grit out.

“And you want us too--”

_“Kill him.”_

Sunstreaker had taken the brunt of Prowl’s anger before. He knew when to push, when to backtrack, and even, when to apologize.

It had only ever happened once, but it had happened.

All that said, Sunstreaker had never seen Prowl this fragged off.

They all had a healthy dose of respect--and understanding--for each other. Born from Prowl recognizing what the Twins needed, and stepping in to provide it, when no one else would. Born from a long earned fight for respect that the Twins now eagerly gave.

If Prowl wanted Sixshot, a triple changing phase sixer dead well.

They’d start planning.

“And get me off that fucking idiotic website!” Prowl added, fingers clenched so hard armor crunched.  

Sideswipe, still not quite recovered, somehow managed to ask; “By any means necessary?”

Prowl nodded to him. “Jazz’s death,” He said, tone still deadly serious, “-is a causality I will accept so long as this mission is completed.”

“Yes sir.” The Twins said as one.

They of course, knew they couldn’t actually kill Jazz (and wouldn’t--they liked him too. Just not as much as they liked Prowl.) or that Prowl meant for them to do so.  

What it did mean was they were free to do pretty much anything else and that was something they had never been given before.

The next few weeks were going to be _fun._


	8. Interviewing New Hires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like painfully late, my bad. It's also edited in the loosest sense of the word, but I have to go back and clean this entire fic up so that's my project for next week. 
> 
> I always felt like Raoul wouldn’t talk to Tracks in English when they were alone/with other mechs who could just as easily flip to Spanish and for those who don’t know, which I assume is no one but I do try not to assume, ghosting someone is current slang for standing someone up or going on a date or two and then disappearing without comment or explanation. 
> 
> Next Chapter the humans decide Sparkmates should be a universal dating website and join in the fun, Knockout hitches a ride to Earth, and Megatron finds out Starscream and the Prime are fragging. Ruh roh.
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol, Mirage being a shit, Motormaster being a shit....ice? Freezing? Idk. 
> 
> This one has a lot of "mentioned" pairings, or rather, mechs who go on dates/are mentioned so I don't think it truly counts as a pairing. Anyway, they are; TC/Sunstreaker, TC/Bumblebee, Skywarp/the twins, Cyclonus/pretty much every minibot but like, Gears, Cyclonus/Whirl, Mirage/Cliffjumper, Mirage/Hound, Rewind/Chromedome and very slightly mentioned Prowl/Chrome (as ex's)

 

* * *

 

No one wanted to ask Cyclonus how he had ended up with the Scavengers.

This worked in his favor, because Cyclonus wasn’t keen on telling anyone. Mostly because the entire story involved a dead universe and brainwashing and zombies and was quite frankly, very confusing.

Nevermind _embarrassing._

Misfire had been an old friend of his however, and he was painfully grateful that at the end of things, the Scavengers had come across him.

Krok at least, knew better than to demand an in depth explanation. Nor did he care that Cyclonus had stripped himself of his badge and demanded to be referred to as “painfully neutral” from that point on. (There might have been a rant about working “for Cybertron and Cybertron only!” but that veered very quickly into weird territory and the Scavengers, after determining Cyclonus wasn’t going to murder them all, abruptly decided to stop listening.)

The Great Sword he’d picked up along the way had given him a vision, one he clung to now that he was, once again, in the middle of a massive change.

His happiness lay within the hands of a small minibot.

He just...hadn’t realized the Autobots had so many.

xXx

Decepticons entering the Ark was starting to become a familiar sight. It technically, wasn’t allowed yet, (and for obvious reasons, Autobots were not welcome in Nemesis, nor the temporary base Soundwave had managed to acquire.) but that didn’t mean a few mechs weren’t bending the rules. And if there were ever two Autobots known to bend the rules, it was the twins.

The fact that one of their current dates had the ability to teleport may have pushed things along.

Mechs were polite. Painfully so--no one wanted to risk upsetting the twins (or two volatile seekers.) Especially since half their leisure time activities seemed to involve screaming at each other.

Well--Thundercracker and Sunstreaker screaming, anyways. Sideswipe and Skywarp seemed to fall more into the “moaning” category.

“That is it--I have _had it!_ You are temperamental, plain mental, and a complete and utter pit fragger!”

Perceptor, who’d been walking down the hall with Bluestreak, shot one wild look at twins closed door.

“Right back at you, sweetspark! Get out of here with this _weak shit_ before I make you!”

Bluestreak on the other hand, didn't even pause. He simply grabbed Perceptor as he about faced, marching right back the way they came.

“I’m taking the flowers with me!”

“Fine I didn’t want them anyway!”

The door flew open shortly after, Thundercracker storming out of it. He kept storming, going in the opposite way of Bluestreak and Perceptor, wings held high and one hand clutching a bouquet of sunflowers.

His stomping alerted most of the Autobots that someone fragged off was approaching, and, as unspoken protocol demanded, promptly disappeared before the mech could target them.

This left Thundercracker in a unique situation--one he was slowly catching on to through his haze of rage and rejected romance.

He stopped at a fork in the halls. Went right.

Come to another fork.

Went left--and ended right back where he’d started.

So this time he tried going left--only to fail, once again.

Thundercracker was part of the Command Trine. He wasn’t exactly High Command himself, but he was definitely up there, and absolutely high up in the aerial forces. He was competent fraggit! He just--wasn’t used to being without Skywarp.

Who could teleport.

Right into and out of, the Ark.

Which meant TC had never been in the Ark, and _that_ meant....

“I’m lost.” He admitted, as he once again landed at yet another fork.

Then he stared pitifully at it because he didn’t have anything else to do.

xXx

Cyclonus regretted.

His life decisions, Galvatron, the Dead Space, hitching a ride--just, regretted.

Right now though he mostly regretted asking Bumblebee out on a date.

It wasn’t really a bad date. Not like the one he’d had with Brawn, who’d challenged him to an arm wrestling contest, a weight lifting contest and a head butting contest, then taken Cyclonus’ polite disinterest as some sort of slight.

No, this was going much better than _that._

It just turned out he and the yellow minibot didn’t have much to talk about.

At all.

“So the weather huh?” Bee tried again, restarting the conversation from where it had petered off for the fourth time.

“It is nice.” Cyclonus said, now familiar with the Earth custom of talking about it from all those idiotic movies the Scavengers watched. “It would please me if it stayed that way.”

“Yup.” Bee agreed, before taking another long sip of his drink.

Cyclonus hide his sigh before taking one of his own, trying to remember the current dating customs and if he could end this now without insulting the Autobot.

Twenty minutes of painfully, dragged out small talk later, and Bumblebee decided to end it for him, thank Primus.

xXx

“Why are we actually up here?”

It was a good question. A very good question, considering they all knew there weren’t any energon reserves in the mountains and thus, looking for them was a moot point. It however, was also a question aimed at Motormaster and Motormaster’s general authority, which meant it wasn’t something to be tolerated let alone answered.

“Shut up.” Said mech snarled, brushing snow off his pentagram and 666 decals. He’d taken the whole antichrist thing to spark, which might have had something to do with why they were actually up in the mountains hiking around in the snow.

It might also have something to do with the current mech he’d hyper focused on in order to show Optimus who was the mech’s “true mate” but no one was brave enough to comment on that.

“It’s below freezing.” Drag Strip said unhappily, once again spinning his tires in an attempt to keep them from freezing.

Dead End mumbled his agreement while he tried to push Wildrider out of yet another snow drift, the speedsters wheels spinning fruitlessly against ice.

“I said shut up!” Motormaster roared, turning about and punching the cliff-side he stood next too. The Earth rumbled in response, snow cascading down.

It smacked dead into Breakdown, who went crashing over the edge of the trail. A shriek sounded seconds before a massive crashing sound did, announcing that the youngest Stunticon had landed on the frozen river.

Or rather, had gone through the ice atop the frozen river.

The rest of the Stunticons leaned over, eyeing the mech shaped hole that was quickly being covered by snow.

Three questioning optics turned to their leader, who in turn looked at the Wrecker’s training schedule he’d stolen. Compared how long it would take to fish Breakdown out against the chance of him missing Arcee’s “Extreme Weather” class.

“He’s fine.” Motormaster said, before going back to climbing the trail. “He’ll find us later.”

His brothers shrugged and followed.

If Motoromaster said it was fine, it was fine.

He was the leader, after all.

xXx

 

Going on two dates on the same day wasn’t something Cyclonus had ever intended on doing. It just wasn’t _proper._

Of course he’d planned for this mornings date to go on for much longer than it had, so when he’d returned to find a message on _Sparkmates_ , he thought perhaps, Primus had decided to send him a sign.

He was wrong.

“Figures.” Huffer was saying, field a downpour of disappointment. “Nothing ever goes right. Why would I expect a date too?”

Which had been about the fourth time he’d said such a thing and Cyclonus _was this fragging close_ to strangling him.

Nevermind all the other things that had been wrong. Such as Cyclonus's choice of a date venue (an outdoor music venue. It was human in origin but everything on this fragging planet was, so it wasn’t like they had any other choices, until Jazz got that bar up he swore he was working on.) Cyclonus's' taste in drinks (a finely aged high grade that had been costly when Cybertron had been young.) and the traffic.

Also the weather, Huffer’s friends, humans, planet Earth in general, just.

Everything.

They had two hours left in the concert, (something Cyclonus had been enjoying, humans had beautiful wind and string instruments.)  and despite asking twice if Huffer had wanted to leave (both times restarting a complaint about Huffer himself, which seemed to be half an attempt at guilting Cyclonus to stay and half of an actual pity party) the mech had refused.

Which meant the purple mech had to keep putting up with the minibot’s whining. Even when the music played.

“I mean this weather is just--look Cybertron’s wasn’t the best but it was never like this, all dreary and _gross_ \--”

Cyclonus sent up yet another prayer for patience and set his jaw.

He would live through his.

Primus help him, so would Huffer.

 

xXx

Thundercracker was staring into the void.

It looked a lot like the inside of an orange.

A never ending, tauntingly bright, orange.

“You look lost!” A stupidly cheery voice said, and TC turned, to find Bumblebee approaching.

Instinct said to deny it, but the minibot was the first Autobot to approach and he’d been lost for stupidly long time, so TC shrugged instead.

Bumblebee thankfully,  took that as the admission it was.

“It’s meant to be confusing.” He said, turning down a hallway TC knew he’d tried. “I’ll show you out.”

TC grunted what might have been a thanks, but really could have been anything. He did follow though, hand still clutching his stupid flowers and he kind of wished he’d ditched them now that he was facing Bumblebee. Hopefully the mech wouldn’t notice, and if he did, have the decency not to say anything.

“So--flowers?” Bee asked, right on que and TC’s wings slumped in defeat, as the seeker wondered what the hell he’d done to piss off Primus today.

“Nothing. It was dumb.” He said, because it retrospect it was dumb. Sunstreaker was dumb. Their entire relationship was dumb--they both knew they were doing it just to please Sideswipe and Skywarp. In TC’s cause it was really just Skywarp but he had a bad feeling that Sunstreaker was doing it for both of them and that was a kick in the spike he just didn’t need today.

“Can’t be worse than the date I was just on.” Bee said with a shrug.

“Who was it?”

“Cyclonus.”

TC winced in sympathy. “I’m amazed you agreed to go on that.” He said. He wouldn’t have. Not with Cyclonus. Mech had a stick so far up his aft you could almost see it when he talked.

Bee just shrugged again, before eyeing the flowers. “Sunstreaker didn’t like them, I take it?”

TC felt his wings slump further. Right along with his dignity.

“No.” He grumped, because there was no point in hiding it now.

“I like them. I think they’re lovely.” Bee said, small hand rising to pat the seeker awkwardly on the arm.

“Sure you do.” TC grumped again. He didn’t need a pity pat thanks!

Even if it felt kind of nice.

“No really! Reminds me of that scene in the script you sent me.” Bumblebee’s pat turned into something of a rub and huh.

Wait.

“You actually read it?” TC asked, looking down at the mech. The two of them had been talking for a while, starting on Sparkmates, but it had moved to email when he and Skywarp had gotten involved with the twins.

Bumblebee had made a joke about him and his preference for the color yellow--which, TC hadn’t bothered to deny--but had continued talking to him anyway until TC had let it peeter out, becoming more distracted with trying to please the volatile frontliner.

Now, walking along with the minibot, he regretted his choice.

Bee smiled up at him. “Of course! I said I would, didn’t I?” And that hand was definitely rubbing now and maybe, Primus wasn’t mad at him. Maybe he was getting a second chance.

Bumblebee stopped walking, almost pulling TC to a stop with him. “We can go back to my hab and talk about it if you’d like.”

He was getting a second chance!

“Yeah.” Thundercracker said, eyeing the smaller bot before him and allowing himself a small smile. “Let’s.”

He transferred the flowers to his other hand, freeing the one Bumblebee was rubbing up on, and turned his palm upward. An invitation of sorts.

Bumblebee, proving he was quicker than most--or perhaps, simply more straightforward, slide his hand right down and into TC’s.

TC’s wings lifted back up, right along with his spirit.

xXx

Cyclones checked his chronometer.

Again.

There was no point denying it now.

Cliffjumper had stood him up.

He cast one despairingly look at the sky before taking out a list and scratching another name off.

If this kept going like it had, people were going to start assuming he had a fetish. And that was not going to land him into the hands of the minibot from his dreams.

xXx

Raoul was drunk.

Not as drunk as Mirage and Tracks were though.

The duo had maintained a sort of peace treaty since their accidental double date, which meant Raoul had two snarky, stuck up transformers to look after instead of just one but he was managing.

Currently they were getting drunk and trading gossip, which was another thing Raoul had accepted he was just going to have to put up with (even if he secretly enjoyed the hell out of it. Cybertronian gossip was top tier stuff and Raoul liked being in the know just as much as Tracks did. He just didn’t hold it over people as much.)

“Cyclonus asked _Cliffjumper_ out!?” Tracks was half saying, half gasping in that overly dramatic fashion all high bred people of any species managed.

“He did!” Mirage waved his hand, high grade somehow managing not to slosh as he did so. “Sent him a formal invite and everything!”

Raoul had to snicker at that. “Mech must’ve been higher than a giraffe's pussy to think that would work out.” He said, taking a sip of his own (much less expensive) drink.

He knew both mechs were wasted when both mechs giggled instead of correcting him over his use of “harsh language.”

“How did he take it?” Tracks asked, leaning forward, and almost unseating Raoul by doing so. The human grumbled, but readjusted himself on his friends shoulder.

“Poorly.” Mirage replied. “Very poorly. He didn’t stop yelling for four hours.”  

“Poor mech.” Tracks tutted. “Probably thought a conspiracy was afoot.”

“Oh he definitely did.” Mirage said again. “I might not have helped in that matter.”

“You didn’t!” Tracks and Raoul both said, one gasping the other gaping.

“Dammit ‘Raj I thought you guys were friends!” Raoul said. He was gonna be pissed if he had to smooth things over between the two of them. They were the worst on again off again frenemies Raoul had ever encountered and he’d survived attending high school with younger two sisters and five cousins.

Nevermind the fact that Cliffjumper blatantly liked Mirage (and didn’t know how to handle it whatsoever), who himself was in some sort of not-relationship with Hound. Since Tracks had taken to hanging out with the other noble Raoul had sworn twice he needed a cork-board and some string to keep up with all the bullshit.

“Oh it wasn’t anything horrible. I just pointed a few things out and agreed with the delusions he came up with.” Mirage shrugged his shoulders and blinked his optics, dawning a look of innocence Raoul wouldn’t have trusted on anyone, human or mech. “Might’ve encouraged him to lead Cyclonus on and then ghost him, harmless stuff!”

Raoul ran a hand down his face and grumbled something that didn’t translate well into English.

Thankfully at that moment no one was speaking English and neither mech needed a translation.

That was, Raoul reflected, one of the few benefits of hanging out with Cybertronians. Even if the downsides included babysitting drunk shit starters capable of crushing buildings.

xXx

There was a mech trapped under the ice.

A mech who clearly recognized him, judging by that middle finger.

Even through being partly frozen (sub zero temperatures, water, ice and Cybertronian circuitry was not a good combination in any order) and under a good several inches of the stuff, that Breakdown had managed to not only recognize him but sass him had Bulkhead grinning.

It was a bad situation but not a fatal one, so he figured humor was allowed. Of course, Bulkhead was the type to think humor was always allowed, but there wasn’t as much urgency here as normal, and so he let the kid see him laugh and take his time helping him out.

The flamethrower he’d borrowed for this excursion was doing wonderfully at burning a smiley face through the ice!

It’d pissed Arcee off when he’d unveiled it, but he’d simply told her that preparation was part of training and she’d let him off the hook. They hadn’t even been out here four hours before it’d become handy, so Bulkhead figured it was at least two points in his favor!

It didn’t take long for the ice to melt. Breakdown surged to the surface, scrambling to try and climb his way out, utterly ignoring the hand Bulkhead offered him.

Of course that meant he went absolutely nowhere, until Bulkhead took pity on the smaller mech and hauled him out by the backplating.

The ‘Con hissed something but his vocalizer glitched halfway through it. He shuddered as Bulkhead dragged him onto solid ground, jerking as he tried to get frozen limbs to move.

The Wrecker looked him over.

“You’re worse off than I thought.” Bulkhead told him seriously. “You walk, you’ll damage yourself further.”

They had a rivalry yes. They were enemies, yes--and possibly still, even if the war ended. Personal grudges didn’t stop because command said it did. But Breakdown had been more of a fun distraction than a real threat. Bulkhead didn’t know how the kid saw himself--or how he viewed Bulkhead and their rivalry, but Wrecker had some ideas.

He wouldn’t count on the guy to save him the way Bulkhead was currently doing, but then he was a Decepticon, and Bulkhead wouldn’t have counted on him anyway. No matter what.

“Fuck you.” The kid hissed--but he went limp anyway.

Guess that meant he had permission.

Bulkhead had no problem heaving Breakdown up. He opened his vents without a thought, expelling heat in attempts to warm the smaller mech in a way he had literally just reviewed with his team. The kid seemed grateful for it, clutching Bulkhead tighter, even if he hide his head while doing it.

Bullhead understood.

This was a moment of weakness, of something beyond Breakdowns control.

A failure.

He didn’t mock Breakdown for it. Or for the fact his siblings had left him. Bulkhead didn’t know a lot about a gestalt but he was a Wrecker--they were, by definition, a dysfunctional family. Families fought, and made mistakes.

Even mistakes like this.

Breakdown’s family was young. His commander--Motormaster, was _very_ young, for the position and responsibilities he held. Inexperienced, untrained, and too caught up in his pride and public appearance to care about the things he should. Those things would either come with time or the lack of them would lead to his downfall--but in the meantime, it was mechs like Breakdown who suffered.

A buried part of him wanted to help.

Another part told him there was no point.

He could offer Breakdown help, but experience told him the mech wouldn’t take it. It would be better to slowly offer friendship instead--or rather, let their rivalry turn into that.

Hmm.

Perhaps some consulting with Kup was needed.

In the meantime Breakdown shook slightly in his arms, and Bulkhead went ahead and sent an SOS comm call out to Springer.

::What happened?:: Came the instantaneous answer from the higher officer.

::Got a ‘Con that tried to be a fish, boss. Gonna need some help though, he didn’t do so well under water.::

A sigh loud enough to be heard, then a calm ::Acknowledged.::

“Fuck you.” Breakdown managed again, clearly this time.

Bulkhead looked down at him. “Not even in your dreams, brat.”

It might have been affectionate but well.

Rivalries sometimes were.

xXx

“Hey, big bot! You Cyclonus?”

Cyclonus turned, eyeing the mech that was definitely not a minibot up and down.

The rotary was taller than even he was and that was a feat this day and age--as well as an empurata victim.

Even if he didn’t have an Autobot badge on his chest, Cyclonus would’ve been on edge.

Empurata victims were notoriously tough, and even more notoriously insane.

“Yes.” He said coolly, shifting his stance to a defensive one. More than one mech had tried him since his return. Several, both Bots and Cons, were upset he dare try to refuse to join a side. More so were upset about some of the things he’d done in the past and while he himself regretted them, he also knew there was nothing to be done.

He accepted that fate would give him challengers and thus far, he’d proven capable of defeating them without making a kill.

The rotary challenged that.

“Windcharger sent me. Said to tell you sorry, he ain't makin' it, he got hung up.” One yellow optic stared unflinchingly at him as the mech finally pulled to a halt, much too close for comfort.

“Ah. Pity.” Cyclonus said.

He didn’t think for a second Windcharger had. This wasn’t the first time someone had used unconventional means to get him alone.

This was proven correct a second later, when the blue mech’s claws clicked. “He’s over by some stupid ass rocks if you do want to join him, but I don’t think you do.” He leaned forward, face far too close to Cyclonsus’s own, as if imparting a secret. “I think you look all too ready to do something else.”

The jet shifted away. “And what is that?” He said, hand moving slowly to the hilt of his sword on his hip.

“Laser tag! There’s an arcade down the street, and my team kicked me out.” The mech’s helm shot back up as he started to make motions with his claws. “Apparently I was “cheating” and “not worth playing with” and that’s total BS. So I’m getting revenge! Can’t do it solo though, and you look pretty competent, and I’m sure you’re not interested in fragging _rocks-_ -so. You in?”

“I--pardon?” Cyclonus said, too caught up in adrenaline to make the leap to laser tag, of all things.

“Are. You. In?” The mech said, in the same way one would talk to a particularly stupid alien. Possibly a sparkling one hated. “You do have a holo avatar, right?”

Which was a safe question to answer and so Cyclonus did. “Yes.” He said slowly, still completely unsure. If this was a distraction technique it was masterful.

The rotary lit up. “Good! Follow me!”

Feeling vaguely stupid for doing so but unsure of his other options, Cyclonus did.

“Name’s Whirl, by the way!” The rotary shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me yours I clearly already know it. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Cyclonus listened, nodding when appropriate, and kept listening, all the way through to the Cybertronian friendly parking spaces, Whirl paying his entry free, and Whirl inviting him to dinner if they won.

It wasn’t until he stood, holo avatar wearing a vest with two heavy, fake guns in hand and Whirl still chattering to his left that the confusion finally left, and he realized what happened.

The damn mech had gotten him on a date!

xXx

 

“Another ship’s coming in to land.”

“Hey that’s a good thing, mech!” Jazz said, grinning at Blaster and kicking his pedes up on his deck. It was better than good actually, it was excellent. The more they got to land, the more they listened to Optimus and fell into the 'let's all date Cons' madness. 

“No. No it’s not.” Blaster said back, voice tight. 

“Why not?” Jazz asked. “Mech chill, you should see your face right now. It’s not like it’s the _Lost Light!”_

The _Lost Light_ being of course, an utter trainwreck, as well as the ship that happened to house Rewind’s lover--and Prowl’s ex. Nevermind the other idiots.

Blaster didn’t say anything. Just gave a very pointed look.

Jazz’s face fell.

“It’s not the _Lost Light."_ He said, processor working. "It can’t be the _Lost Light_ , they’re on the other side of the Universe!”

At Blasters continued silence, Jazz groaned. “Oh Primus, it is the _Lost Light!_ ”

Blaster gave one, slow nod. “Lands next week.” He said, practically throwing the datapad down on Jazz’s desk. “Brainstorm says hello, and that he thinks he has a solution. For everything.”

Jazz just groaned louder.


	9. Rival Corporations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey we're nearing the end!
> 
> Pairings in this chap: OP/SS, Wheeljack/Constructicons, Rewind/Chromedome, mentioned Mirage/Ravage, mentioned Chromedome/Prowl, mentioned Krok/Kup, Whirl/Tailgate/Cyclonus, Perceptor/Chip Chase, annnd Rung/Fulcrum. 
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of drug use/abuse. threats of violence, Megatron doing a real good job of blaming his problems on others (never fear, he's about to have his come to Jesus moment)

 

* * *

 

Things were going better than Optimus had ever anticipated. The Decepticons were becoming more agreeable by the day, several relationships were close to being made legitimate and Starscream--

Was brilliantly, amazingly, himself.

 If you’d told Optimus two vorns ago that he’d crave waking up next to the seeker’s lithe frame he’d have thought you as mad as the God who kept telling him to wait, hold on, keep the war going.

He’d have some other choice words as well, but Starscream was doing a remarkable job of pulling him out of his own helm.

Especially right then, seated on top of the cliff side Optimus now fondly referred to as “theirs” with Starscream riding his lap, managing to be haughty and pleading at the same time.

This was what Optimus had missed, had overlooked. How much of Starscream’s personality was held down, choked back. How smart the mech was, and how that intelligence hyper-focused on a problem--or a person.

With the threat of violence finally removed, the result was amazing.

Optimus never wanted to let the seeker out of his sight.

He did though, and that, he thought, was what made their relationship work. Starscream was his own mech. The shadows of what they’d both lived through never quite left them--from the war and beyond-- and while Optimus felt like he was the one having to carefully tread water more often than not, he’d realized  that Starscream was doing the same with him.

Careful not to mention certain things. To support him when he needed it, even if it was in his own way. To insure that things were right between them, even if that meant Starscream storming into his room and snarling how much of an idiot he was while doing his best to get under his plating.

Kind of like what he was doing right then.

The realization hit him then--and Optimus knew.

How he felt.

How _Starscream_ felt.

This was how he--Starscream and himself both--were going to stop the war. They were going to have to merge sparks, declare themselves together.

The future seemed to span in front of him, a dazzling display of opportunities, of their people coming together.

It was going to have to be slow. With Starscream everything was slow but here they had a place to start and now, now that  Optimus felt all of it, had been embroiled in it for almost a month, he felt safe enough to say it.

Starscream was moaning and panting, hips moving. Ever the romantic, Optimus waited for the right moment. When the seeker was right there, at the edge.

It didn’t take long.

He tightened the grip he had on Starscream’s hips, bringing his helm forward to lean against Starscream’s. Look deep into his optics.

“I love you.” He said, and grinned when Starscream overloaded.

xXx

The room was dark.

No. No the room was _supposed_ to be dark, but it wasn’t. It was instead bathed in a bleating red glow. A red glow that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Megatron squinted at it, trying to make sense of why this light was wrong.

He’d long ago turned the alarms off on his own HUD, so it wasn’t something internal. He wasn’t in  his room either--he wasn't on a berth. Hadn’t been on one for a while, if the kinks in his cables was anything to go by.  

Long trained instincts forced him to move slowly, to not give away that he was awake. Clearly something was wrong--he just. Didn’t know what.

His processor was fuzzy, his body responding slowly and his first thought was that he’d been drugged. It took until he stood for him to realize he was in his throne room. Longer still to discover he was alone, and that the red light was the external alarms.

Something had happened.

It was a struggle to think. Self diagnostic was slow to start and slower to run, and while it processed what was wrong with him he turned in a slow circle. Observing. Cataloging.

Trying to figure this out.

Then he caught sight of the security cameras.

The confusion left him abruptly as he saw Starscream attempt to murder the Prime on screen. Anger broiled--the idiot _knew_ better. Prime was his to destroy, and no one else's!

...Except the two of them weren’t actually fighting, now that he was watching them. Weren’t really moving all too much at all except--

No.

_No!_

Megatron staggered closer, optics blowing wide, as his stressed processor finally made sense of what he was seeing.

Starscream and the Prime weren’t fighting.

They were _interfacing._

The howl of rage reverberated around the room, so loud it jostled the ocean around it.

Somewhere far, far aware, Soundwave got a chill.

xXx

Chromedome wasn’t happy.

The claim of Earth as a possible colony was just a small factor--though he was not opposed to sharing another creatures planet he wasn’t the most keen on being what amounted to an alien refugee on one.

No, the bigger, prevailing issue and the reason for his constant moping was being trapped on a bright, dirt filled planet _with his ex and his Conjux's parental unit._

Neither of which liked him.

“Come on Domey, this’ll be fun!” Rewind said, trying, as he had for the last leg of the trip, to cheer him up. “I know this is stressful on you, but we’ll figure out. I promise--I will put you first.”

Which of course, caused a tidal wave of guilt to crash over him. He’d once again been a horrible Conjux--to a mech who’d faced a lot more hardship than he ever had. Rewind was a cassette--he and his twin were literally made to dock with Blaster. That Rewind had struck off on his own had been a thing of wonder for a lot of Autobots, particularly those not familiar with Carrier culture and the fact that mechs could be made into cassettes--as well as unmade. It left Rewind a monoformer but Chromedome hadn’t cared remotely.

That didn’t mean others didn’t.

Rewind was uniquely, wonderfully himself though--and Prowl, well. Prowl could go frag himself.

Chromedome took a long vent. He could do this. He would do this!

For Rewind.

“Thank you.” He told Rewind, telling him in hand-speak something a bit more detailed--and mushy. “I will do my best to try for you.”

“That’s all I ask.” Rewind side, ducking his helm into Chromedome’s chest. The two cuddled, then stayed that way as the _Lost Light_ descended.

Or rather, until Ultra Magnus’s comm was received, detailing the fact that Chromedome had to report in to HQ immediately due to the sheer number of Decepticon hits that had been placed on him in the last 24 hours.

“Wow.” Rewind said, reading over the shared report as Chromedome put his head back in his hands. “What did you do to piss them all off so much?”

“Date Prowl.” He muttered, calm shattered.  

No matter how many times he managed to put it behind him, somehow his emotionless ex managed to kick him when he was down--but going so far to have Decepticons do it? Who claimed the reason was jealousy!?

That was low, even for Prowl.

“Frag.” Rewind said finally.

Chromedome could only agree.  


xXx

As it always did, everything went to the pit at once.

The _Lost Light_ was landing, a number of ‘Cons were secretly (or not so secretly) calling for some poor mechs inner energon, and the humans had found the Sparkmates website.

Well.

“Found” was a poor word choice, seeing as most of the base’s humans knew of it to begin with. “Messed with” would have been a better term. Jazz might have even gone as far as “pranked.”

It had started innocently, with a giggling Bluestreak asking Mirage he’d noticed his newest top match. Nevermind that both were on duty in the Spec Ops office.

Mirage, frowning in that “I don’t know if I should be slighted but it sounds like I should be” way, immediately pulled it up--only to see Raoul had replaced his top matches. The next ten minutes was filled with outright laughter as the noble began spamming the human’s phone with a barrage of texts and voicemails.

Jazz himself had snickered at the antics, particularly since he had a feeling he’d known why exactly Raoul had pulled this little stunt. Neither Mirage nor Ravage had made a move on each other, but both had done an awful lot of dancing about the topic.

Both had also somehow managed to involve Hound, despite neither claiming they had set out to do so.

Raoul making a profile that perfectly mimicked Mirage’s might very well be the kick the noble needed to get over whatever internal hump that was preventing him from making a decision in regards to his date life, and Jazz couldn’t fault the human for it.

He just wished he hadn’t dragged _everyone else_ into the mess.  

All the humans on base had decided to follow suit, and apparently, some of their friends as well. Which posed the question of whether or not Jazz should kick their profiles off and ugh, no, he did not want to deal with this while trying to defend Chromedome, calm down Blaster, and insure the _Lost Light_ members didn’t start any problems!

So he didn’t.

Just simply did absolutely nothing.

The humans, he figured, could sort themselves out.

He was wrong.

xXx

Cyclonus had attended the _Lost Light_ landing more out of curiosity than anything else. Curiosity and perhaps to keep Whirl in line--the mech apparently had a friend on board. After spending the better part of two weeks being continuously tricked or challenged into sparring, activities, and general amusements, Cyclonus wasn’t sure he wanted to meet someone Whirl called a friend. Nor did he want them to spend time together unsupervised, particularly when he learned the so called friend was a weapons engineer.

It was best if he got an idea of how much trouble they were going to cause, from the get go.

Particularly if Whirl kept insisting he involve Cyclonus in his life.

Just as the WAP and the Wrecker’s crews had, the _Lost Light’s_ mechs fell out of the ship in a flood. Mechs went every which way--though most avoided the very clear “Decepticon” side of things. Particularly since one or two mechs looked a touch bloodthirsty.

Cyclonus watched it all with a general’s optic, focusing on how certain mechs greeted each other as old friends while others avoided enemies or unfriendlies. Curiously two mechs--a tall and small Amica Endura pair, managed to do both, with the smaller one greeting the Autobot’s comms mech--Blaster?--with joy and the other with clear contempt.

Blaster returned both greetings with the same tones as the ones offered.

Hmm.

Something to watch, there.

He had thought Whirl was watching as well, but was proven wrong when a thin elbow was jammed repeatedly in his side. Cyclonus batted it away at its third go, ignoring Whirl’s excited “Look, look, look--!” to turn and see what had the Wrecker so riled.

His optics passed over a minibot in order to do so, only for his head to freeze and process what it just saw. Cyclonsus’ gaze jerked back, focusing on the gorgeous, white, bubbly minibot laughing and trotting next to an orange and black one.

 _‘Mine.’_ His processor decided, long before he wrested control of it. _‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’_

A low whistle brought him back to reality, immediately embarrassing him for the claim. He knew better than to even think like that! Honestly, he wasn’t a newspark, and despite his trend towards romanticism he knew better!

Except his spark--and his sword, pulsed in agreement.

That minibot was his destiny.

“Frag that’s a cute lil mech!” Whirl was saying, and yes, his pincer was pointing in the direction of the same minibot. “Lookit him go!”

Cyclonus stared at him, surprised.  

A slow realization swept his processor, the pieces falling together as he followed the mech’s gaze to the minibot walking away.

Perhaps it was _both_ their destinies.

xXx

Wheeljack had fought hard for this. Peace and total acceptance amongst the Constructicons. He wasn't Prowl. Wasn't ever going to be Prowl, and he honestly expected most of them to put up more of a fight than this.

It had taken some time yes, but not as long as he thought to get them all to hang out. Agree to at least see him as a whole unit, even if a few of them still weren’t keen on dating.

They were open to the idea though and that was all that mattered. All Wheeljack needed.

Mixmaster and Scavenger had helped greatly, remained friendly, and together with they’d even gotten started on a few projects. One of which interested the rest of the Constructicons enough to get them all crammed into the _Ark’s_ labs.

Perceptor had given him the dirtiest look for it, but he’d bowed when his own curiosity had won out.

The little experiment had gone so far as to draw out Skyfire and get all of them talking--which of course, was when ship-wide comm’s interrupted.

 _“Lost Lights_ landed.” Skyfire said dutifully, mostly for the Constructicons benefits, who nodded and continued on.

Except, they all realized, both Perceptor and Wheeljack were not continuing on. Were instead sharing twin looks of horror.

“What’s wrong?” Scavenger asked, concerned.

Both turned to look at him with wide, haunted optics.

“The _Lost Light_ has landed.” Perceptor said.

Mixmaster frowned. “So Skyfire said.”

“No--sorry. You don’t understand. It means--”

“--Brainstorms here.” Wheeljack finished.

The horror shared the two mechs was lost on the others but respected, nonetheless.

xXx

Whispers followed Fulcrum everywhere.

He knew why.

He was a K-class. A bomb. A branded traitor. Someone who could only be redeemed by completing the function they’d been assigned, and had instead, managed to survive. By definition, this meant his punishment wasn’t fulfilled.

No one knew what to do with him.

Fulcrum had worried at first--what other Cons would think of him, would do to him. As time went on though, he cared less and less. He never forgot what he was, but it just hadn’t mattered when he’d been scrunched on a couch watching shitty romance movies, or arguing with Misfire over a game of darts.

The Scavengers hadn’t treated it like it was important, and overtime, Fulcrum forgot that it was.

Now, he knew it was _very_ important.

High Command hadn’t said anything. There hadn’t been talks of executions, or further punishment. So far everyone involved was doing an excellent job of pretending Fulcrum just didn’t exist.

Others-didn’t.

He hadn’t really had any unpleasant encounters--but that didn’t mean they weren’t on the horizon. Already a few sneers and overheard mutters had caused his plating to clamp. Krok could roll his optics all he want and insist Fulcrum was imagining things but he wasn’t sure how much longer he was willing to walk around by himself.

Not that any of the other Scavengers were really a deterrent. Not against Decepticon elites.

Nevermind the Autobots.

All it had taken was two startled looks and one loudly shouted, “Is that a K-Class!?”  when they had initially landed for dozens of burning blue optics to focus on him and nope. That was enough, thanks!

He’d avoided them--and most everyone--like the plague. Maybe they’d get used to him, or maybe they’d murder him in an ally somewhere, but either way Fulcrum was ditching his fate for as long as he could.

Unfortunately he couldn’t ditch his crew.

He had promised to help Krok set up a date to “outdo Kup’s!” and thus, was out in the open, in a field near to one of the often traveled paths both Bots and Cons took. The path that led to the temporary Con base, in fact. (Fulcrum wasn’t certain why it was temporary--it looked plenty legit to him, personally. He wasn’t going to bring that up though. Just like he wasn’t going to bring up the fact that Megatron was still missing, or the fact that Soundwave seemed to be unofficially handling things. He’d watched two others do it before him and the reaction made him keen not to repeat their mistakes.)

The area wasn’t often traveled by humans, as deep out in the woods as they were, and more and more of these little pockets of meadows were being used as date spots for mechs looking to get away for some private time. He’d agreed to go ahead and set up a little picnic area with Misfire, and comm Krok when it was ready--except Misfire had said something about the fragging Dinobots and a lake party and gone flying off with a few shouted apologies.

Leaving him alone--and easy to approach.

Not like it was hard. He was shuffling a few boxes Msifire had dumped on the path to the meadow (because, as always, Misfire’s aim had been _awful.)_ and thus bumbled straight into another mech.

Both of them went down.

“Sorry!” He yelped automatically, before scrambling to pick up the box.

“Ah no, that was my fault.” The mech--an Autobot!--said. An orange thing, he adjusted his...glasses? For a moment, looking up at Fulcrum. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Uh.” Fulcrum said, because he’d already picked the box back up and he didn’t have an escape route and frag, frag, frag! “Um.”

“Do you need help with that?” The mech asked, pointing to the box Fulcrum was holding as he stood. “Oh--there’s more of them. How about I carry the last one over for you then?” He smiled, and went to go fetch the last box before Fulcrum could do more than stammer.

This Autobot was his size, if slightly smaller. Skinny like him too--Fulcrum could only wonder at what he turned into. He didn’t think any monoformers were left but this was the first mech he’d seen in a while who could easily have passed as one.

He’d grabbed the box though, and out of fear more than anything, Fulcrum walked into the meadow with him, optics locked on to the mech the entire way. The place to put the boxes down was easy to see, and Rung made a beeline for it, field happy and not at all murderous or sly.

Fulcrum wasn’t sure he trusted it.

He put his own box down anyway--prepared for the worst when they both straightened.

“I don’t believe we’ve met” The Autobot said, holding out a hand and a happy little smile. Neither of which said murder but then, Tarn smiled while he killed people too!

Fulcrum took it hesitantly. “No." He said. “I’m uh. Fulcrum.”

“Nice to meet you Fulcrum.” The Autobots smile grew bigger. “I’m Rung.”

Which sounded--vaguely familiar, but damned if Fulcrum’s processor was running right just then.

The two shook hands--Fulcrum spam comming Krok the entire time and only growing more concerned when Rung remained friendly instead of vicious.

“Can I help you set up the rest of the picnic?” Rung said, when Fulcrum finally remembered to drop his hand.

His field was pleasant--and Krok hadn’t answered.

With an internal sigh and prayer to Primus, Fulcrum could only agree.   


xXx

Raoul was having the time of his life.

It was purely a coincidence that he day he decided to make a profile to taunt Mirage was the same weekend Carly got white girl wasted at a party and blabbed to all her friends about _Sparkmates._

Didn’t mean he wasn’t taking credit for it.

Especially after he’d had to babysit Mirage and Tracks!

Now everyone was in on it. From Spike to Chip to even the kid who worked the coffee shop closest to the base. Jake or Jack or something.

Of the pairings that had resulted, the most amusing reaction--beyond Mirage’s--had to have been Chip’s and Perceptor’s. No one was surprised the two of them had matched highly--except apparently, Perceptor and Chase themselves.

Their reactions ranged from “painfully awkward” to “way too many jokes to make anyone comfortable” and rumors had sparked immediately that the first thing the two of them were going to do was bang.

Clang.

“Bang-a-clang!” Spike said, snickering as he played Skrillex’s _Bangarang_ on his phone, to Chip’s horror and Carly’s groan.

“We would not.” Perceptor said, face hot--the transformer version of a blush. “Not without some kind of highly emotional situation to prelude us!”

The shocked silence clued him in immediately to what he’d said--or implied, rather. Perceptor immediately stammered, trying to take it back and explain that it was a joke that had landed poorly, but Chip was already shaking his head.

“You heard him.” He said over Percy’s protests. “We’ll only have intercourse once the world is saved!”

“So...tomorrow?” Raoul guessed.

The resulting laughter muffled the Chip’s (admittedly poor) throw of his lunchbox at Raoul, but both were laughing by the end.  


xXx

Megatron couldn’t stop shaking.

From the withdrawl or from anger, he wasn’t sure. For the first time since he’d used dark energon, he didn’t delude himself into it being just the latter either.

Not when anger had barely been enough to propel him down the hall.

He’d allowed himself to much. Allowed himself to get to this state, somehow. Allowed Prime to somehow commandeer his army. Panicked visions taunted him, showing Cybertron returning the the Great Golden Age.

Functionalists and all.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. He doubted his own ‘Cons ever would, but then, he couldn’t even _find_ them! It had taken him a full week to recover enough to stalk through the Nemesis. Once he did, he found the place absolutely, and totally, abandoned.

His rage went unheard. His comms as well.

In his weakest moments his bids for dark energon came out pitiful, and the second time Megatron awoke to find himself begging for it, he decided to quite, cold.

How had this happened? How had he _allowed_ this to happen?

The drug, of course.

The drug was to blame.

Withdrawal stung at him, shaking his frame and playing with his temperature. Nothing could be done for it, nor was there anyone near him who would try to bring aide. Not when there was absolutely no one near him at all.

Time crawled, and the anger grew. He had to be angry--anger was what kept him alive. He knew now, knew how close he’d come to dying, all due to an addiction.

Addiction, and the apparent abandonment by his army.

 _‘Whose idea was the dark energon?’_ He thought wildly, during a horrific night. _‘Starscream’s? Why did he never try it? Did he know? Stupid question of course he knew.’_

Starscream, who had found the stuff. Starscream, who had goated him into trying it.

Starscream, who had taken his entire army the second Megatron was knocked out.

Clearly Starscream had been working with Prime for a while--maybe, even, from the start.

The second, the very astro-second, Megatron was remotely at fighting strength, he was going straight to the pitfragger. Going to find his army. Reclaim it.

He was going kill Starscream and reclaim his throne--and his planet.

Once and for all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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